How We Survive
by SadameHime
Summary: After Linara Mahariel died to save Ferelden, Alistair is left to rule his country without love, and without a bride. Eamon arranges for him to wed Gwendolyn Cousland, a survivor of Howe's treachery, and together, they will learn to survive.
1. 1 Introductions

What emptiness awaits me? This I fear  
Far more than any peril I might face  
My purpose in this world became less clear  
When you were taken from your cherished place  
Within my wishing heart and went your way  
So willingly it almost makes me ill

To think it never crossed your mind to stay  
Pushes the dagger deep, completes the kill  
And yet how much of this was done by me?  
Had I the courage would you still have flown?  
How sad to think this was not destiny  
But my mistake, yet how could I have known?

Now here is my dilemma, as it seems  
Do I accept the score that fate has set,  
And calmly watch the passing of my dreams  
Or do I dare to place another bet  
That where the curtain falls another rises  
If I am wrong then strike me for my sins

But I believe our acts and thin disguises  
Where but a prologue to what now begins

- An Excerpt from the Poem Goodbye by Emilie Autumn

AN: I am almost certain that this has been explored before, though I have not read stories like it in the past. I do not mean to steal anyone's creative thunder, and if elements appear here than you have seen in other stories, I apologize up front, as I was unaware.

With that said, please enjoy reading.

UPDATE: A fierce editing frenzy has come upon me, and for the next several days the earlier chapters will be facing expansion and fixing. I noticed some spelling errors and mix ups on a few of the events the game. I will leave a small note at the top of each chapter to let you know if it has been updated.

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_For hours, Alistair defended the gates of Denerim against the darkspawn as diligently as any man had ever done before him. He stood amidst the burning buildings of the market district, and true to his word, he stayed with his companions to stop further darkspawn from invading. His sword arm ached, but his spirit urged him to ignore it. The pain only made him fight harder. The splintering shield upon his arm only reminded him that he didn't have long to wait now._

_Linara Mahariel had urged him to stay, refused his companionship as she left the gates in order to find the Archdemon. She always moved like the wind, and those that went with her would surely lag behind her on the quest she set herself on. Nothing would stop her._

_He begged her to take him with her, told her it would be better if two Grey Wardens went to in case Riordan failed. She wouldn't listen, and she said that Ferelden needed him after this was over. He had to be King… He insisted that the greatest thing he could have ever done for Ferelden was take her place.. She refused to allow him that._

_Soon, the Archdemon would be slain. Soon, someone he loved would die. He tried to prepare himself through all of this fighting for the pain that would come when he felt the Archdemon parish, for the woman he loved would go with it. There was nothing worse than knowing it was going to happen other than the moment itself._

_The flash of light came suddenly and without warning. Darkspawn were instantly disheartened all around him, and whatever ranks they had formed before dispersed into nothing but frightened children. He felt what he assumed they felt, a schism tearing open in the noise of battle like a great clap of thunder. It rocked him to his core, not because the Archdemon had died, but because Linara was gone. He knew it, and these moments passed by the slowest for him. When the initial shock was over, he dropped to his knees in a two-fold agony. _

_His body had finally given in when his heart decided to strike him down. His muscles screamed for relief just as his heart crumbled into pieces. Alistair did his best not to cry like a child. The blow from this revelation was sharp and to the point, and every fiber of his being whispered of Linara Mahariel's dying breath, her last words to him, and every single moment they had ever spent together happy. _

_He could hear her murmuring in his ear that everything would be alright. He wanted to believe for that moment that he would wake up back in Redcliffe, safe and sound in her arms. He wanted it to all be a lie, but there was a bitter echo in the back of his mind that she was gone and never coming back. The blood soaked earth beneath him reminded him of the reality, the weight of his armor bearing down on him like a punishment._

_Alistair had learned that the Grey Wardens who perished with the Archdemon were destroyed utterly, their souls sundered by the great power they had defeated. As he gathered himself up, awaiting the return of Wynne, Leiliana, and Sten, he prayed that at least part of her would survive. He wanted her buried properly. Linara deserved better than to be left up there, and he hoped his friends would look away when he cried over her. He wanted to have his time to mourn her passing._

The Palace was cold in the early hours of the morning, hours that Alistair could no longer urge himself to sleep through. He awoke to a cold sweat and a pounding heartbeat, the staggering reality of his dream setting him ill at ease. The draft that came in through the fireplace put a chill down his spine not unlike the dream that continued to haunt him. Sometimes it was different. Instead of being on the field, he had gone with her and dealt the final blow himself. Then he would just dream of her in the same state he was, and his mind would shock him awake to remind him she would never cry like she did in his dreams.

This feeling was similar to what he felt after Duncan and the other Grey Wardens were killed in Loghain's treachery. There was this emptiness deep in his heart, aching to be filled by something, anything that could make it better. When Duncan passed, Linara had been there to lift his spirits. Now, nothing remained. No one was there to pick him up.

It had been six weeks since the Blight had been ended.

Six weeks since Linara had died.

Four weeks since he was crowned king.

Three weeks since Zevran had taken off to do whatever it is Antivans do.

Two weeks since Wynne had announced she would stay at the Palace as his advisor, and he was bloody thankful for that.

It had been one week since Leliana had come to mourn his loss with him after an urgent call to the Chantry. He was thankful for that too.

Morrigan had disappeared after the battle, and he hadn't cared to question why. Why should he when Sten was coming out of Fort Drakon, carrying his lover's lifeless body in his arms in absolute respect? The only thing he had cared about then was Wynne's quiet weeping. She grieved with him those first few days, and she had never felt more like his grandmother than she did then.

Oghren went after Felsi. Alistair commending the dwarf for stepping up and trying to move on after everything had passed in Orzammar. However, he couldn't be less thankful for Arl Eamon when he decided that he deserved no more grief than what he had been given and that he must marry. Alistair couldn't truly comprehend how Eamon had to deal with the loss of his wife, Isolde, as quickly as he had been forced to do. Perhaps this was the only reason that the King swallowed his pride and agreed.

He spent those early morning hours wondering just what Eamon had in store for him once the sun came up and life began. He imagined a parade of young ladies, all with more make-up on their faces than heart they had in their chests. It was this image that caused him to distract himself with a copy of the Chant of the Light. He had never been very religious, and everyone knew this. Still, Leliana left it for him hoping it would 'give him guidance in his time of need'.

Alistair read diligently until one of the maids knocked on his door to announce his early morning meeting with Eamon and his perspective bride would be at the Arl's Denerim estate in an hour. That was enough time for him to get dressed and into his armor before hitting the streets of the ruined city to meet the woman that would make or break him.

And Maker's breath, was he nervous. He didn't know what to expect when he got there, but he had this inkling feeling that no matter what he tried to prepare himself for, he would find that he had never been so utterly wrong in his life. Alistair genuinely feared the woman he was about to meet, if only because he would have to spend his very short life with her. He felt it wrong to force a woman into such a position, where she would know her husband's life might be significantly shorter than her own. However, if she had not run away the moment Eamon had told her of his intentions then maybe she had the fortitude to stand by him.

The only thing refreshing about this short trip was being able to see his people rebuilding. He was most impressed with how the Alienage had begun to receive better care, partially because of the decree he made on Linara's behalf that the homes built to replace what had been destroyed were to be of the finest crafstmanship. He had remembered how disgusted she was to see her fellow _Elvhen _suffering as they did, how she swore to end the Blight and help them till her dying breath.

The streets had been dirty before the Reconstruction began, but now it seemed that cleanliness was coming to the city in the laying of new roads and the removal of debris. It was like this all around Denerim, especially in the Market debris had been distributed to the survivors to be used as firewood in their camps, or homes for those whose homes had not been destroyed. Some houses were being rebuilt, but Goldanna's house would not be among them; she had been among the dead.

The only thing Alistair worried about when he heard this was the fate of her children. It came to his knowledge that some had died, and two others discovered magic in their blood trying to survive the attack. They were in the Circle Tower now, and that brought him some comfort to at least know that they were safe. He hadn't cared for his sister when he met her, and Linara had told him that she was just looking out for herself. It was about then that he decided to do the same, and look where that got him.

Wade's Emporium had been razed to the ground, and with some amusement he listened to the 'passionate' armorsmith complain about the state of his forge. His displeasure permeated the air, and his manager argued with him about a new post. Something about Vigil's Keep. Alistair winced at the thought.

If he had laid with Morrigan that night before the battle, Linara would be going off to serve as Commander of the Grey at that exact place. Just that idea made his chest ache beneath his armor, but he remembered that it was Linara who angrily refused, loudly accusing the apostate of all sorts of things. He could hear her yelling down the hall that night, and when she came to bed, all she wanted to do was curl up next to him and cry. He wished that it hadn't been the last night he got to spend with her.

It wasn't too long before he arrived at Arl Eamon's home in Denerim, which was in surprisingly good order after the attack. He understood that the gates around it came down fast and blocked entry, which was very fortuitous for the Arl. Alistair found him standing outside waiting for him, utterly alone in the courtyard aside from the presence of a young lady who seemed too concerned with her uncomfortable horse to pay him any mind.

"Your Majesty, it is good to see you again."

"You don't have to call me that, Eamon. I would prefer you didn't." Alistair came forward to greet him from the middle of a small group of guards.

"Then it shall be so, Alistair. I'm glad to see you out and about."

_Only because I had no choice,_ Alistair mused bitterly before he spoke. "So… I want to get this over as fast as possible. Where is she?"

The Arl tilted his head toward the woman struggling with her horse as he spoke," Gwendolyn Cousland is her name. Quite a spirited girl. Her mabari spooked the horse, and she is attempting to calm it down."

_Cousland_. Why was that name familiar?

Alistair blinked, quite surprised that the woman he saw on arrival was his perspective bride, and he turned around to look at this woman again. She didn't look like someone that the Arl would consider, dressed in thin riding leathers and sweating in the effort to calm her horse. She had long brown hair that would probably touch her rear end if she let it down, and her skin was tan, as if she had seen many, many hours of sunlight and riding in her life. She was not incredibly fair, but her facial features betrayed the noble birth she had.

"Where is the hound?" Alistair asked.

Just the thought of Mabari reminded him of the same one that followed Linara loyally all through their travels, just to die from the taint in the nights following the battle. Houndmasters did what they could for him, but they said he was less willing to do anything now that his mistress was gone. The Mabari would rather be in the world beyond the Fade with her than live through its poison.

"Probably hiding in the stables. Gwendolyn wasn't very happy with him."

Eamon's words shocked him out of his thoughts as he gestured for Alistair to join him on a walk toward the lady, who still struggled furiously to keep her horse in line with the ground.

"Gwendolyn isn't like a lot of the noble women. Its obvious just looking at her, but she is a very athletic woman, and eager to fight for her country. If not for the threat of Arl Howe, she likely would have been with us when we defended Denerim. Word of his death had not yet reached her where she sought refuge."

Alistair nodded and murmured incoherent answers to Eamon with every little piece of information he was fed. The King could understand why she was a good choice now. Ferelden did need a Queen, a Queen that could hold her own and be respected- not that Anora wasn't respected, but after all of that mess at the Landsmeet.. No one would have looked at her the same. And it's not like Alistair would have married her anyway. Eamon seemed aware of that much.

As the men approached, Gwendolyn managed to calm her horse only enough so that he would not long kick his front legs at her. He still snorted in agitation, and she did what anyone would do in that situation: present a carrot to him. It gathered the horse's attention quickly, and by the time Eamon and Alistair reached her, the horse had taken it from her hand and trotted away to eat in peace.

"Your Majesty, I didn't see you arrive." She smiled faintly and bowed to Alistair like it was habit. It made him uncomfortable.

"If we're going to be spending a lot of time together, you can just call me by my name…" He shifted in place, and looked at Eamon for help.

Gwendolyn looked between the two of them and chuckled," Alright. Alistair. Its good to finally meet you. My brother, Teryn Fergus of Highever, told me that you seemed like a good man at your coronation. I would have been present as well.. But I didn't know if it was safe to come back to Denerim, after Arl Howe attacked our family."

Hearing this information snapped everything into place in Alistair's mind. Fergus had spoken to him very briefly at the coronation about sending troops to find his sister, therefore Highever's guard would be too small to send aid in case Darkspawn decided to attack again. This was her then. It made sense now as it why Fergus may have been worried. She looked like a woman with a knack for trouble.

He never really had the mind for keeping all of these things together, and part of him nagged him to find the way to do that. He was going to need it in the very near future.

"So Fergus did find you? Or did you come on your own?" Eamon jumped in.

"Bann Teagan found me when he went back to Rainesfere, if you remember. It was far enough away from Amaranthine that I could take up refuge in the Chantry. The Revered Mother was very good to me. I did write my brother, so don't you worry about him stomping all through Ferelden on a mad hunt for his little sister."

Gwendolyn tried throwing in a good natured laugh in an attempt to clear the air. It didn't very well work, and it left a thick veil of unease around them all that caught on an awkward silence.

Arl Eamon looked at Alistair, and the King still looked as uncomfortable as ever standing there in front of his bride-to-be. She didn't seem very comfortable either, almost like she was speaking to try and relieve the clear tension in the air. He cleared his throat, and decided that he would head inside.

"I think I'll leave you two alone for a little while. Breakfast will be ready shortly."

Alistair thought to object, but the look he received from the Arl when he opened his mouth could silence anyone. It seemed that he would be stuck in the company of Gwendolyn Cousland for the whole day, if only to get to know her.

She watched the Arl go inside with the slightest twinge of discomfort crawling up her spine, worse than the restlessness that the tension had left in her.

"Well," She began, " I think I'll go find Cian… Are you any good with Mabari, Alistair?"

"Not one bit. The Hero of Ferelden had one, but it didn't seem to like me much."

"I heard about her Mabari. Great big, light-colored furred beauty, wasn't he? Could tear a man's jugular clean out of his throat. Very powerful hound, according to the stories," Gwendolyn made her way toward the stables, whistling all the way as if to gain her own Mabari's attention.

Alistair blinked as he followed her toward the stables, "You heard stories about her?"

"Who wouldn't? A lot of the human's tried to put all the credit to you, but the Elves that frequented the Chantry told the true stories of how she could sneak up behind you without so much as a breath, how her arrows flew so high and so straight that they could go clean through your body and you wouldn't even notice. They told other stories too… but…"

"It was about us, wasn't it? How we were involved?"

Gwendolyn turned her head to look at him apologetically, like she could sense the beaten puppy coming out of him," I'm sorry, Alistair. I truly am. I know what it is like to lose someone you love because they were trying to protect you.."

Gwendolyn opened the small door into the stables, and as the door creaked open, the whimper of a defeated mabari came from behind a bale of hay. She bent down and began to click her tongue, likely to urge the mabari from its hiding place.

"Its alright, Cian. Come on now…"

A great, dark furred beast slowly stepped out from behind the hay where the whimpers came from. Covered in bright red war paint, Alistair assumed that this mabari was just as fierce in battle as Linara's own. It came forward as it realized that Gwendolyn's anger had subsided, and instinctually butted the top of his large head into his mistress' hand. She patted him gently.

"Behave now, it's time for us to go inside and eat."

"I..uhh.. I guess we should go inside then," Alistair suggested before yet another silence could fall over them.

Gwendolyn blinked at him for a moment before she softly nodded her head and stood," I suppose so. Wouldn't want to keep Connor waiting. That boy loves his breakfast, and Maker help the man that makes him wait on it…"

She turned on her heel and began toward the gate, glancing briefly over her shoulder at the man she would marry someday. She felt pity for him, knowing full well that this was never what he wanted. With a shake of her head, she looked away and said not another word. Just seeing him, she could sense that he was the kind of man that needed a strong shoulder to lean on. Not that he was weak, but he gave in quickly to demand and was unsure of himself in his new position. She could see that in his stumbling words, his pauses as he spoke to her. She would give him strength in the days to come even if it was all she had to give.


	2. 2 The Beginning

UPDATED

The chapter 2 edit was less extensive, as it is one of the chapters I'm happier with. There was very little expansion to be made, but I liked the changes.

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Gwendolyn decided to abandon Alistair in the main hall, and head straight to her room as she intended to change out of her riding leathers before breakfast. That was only half of her reasoning, however, as she felt uncomfortable around him. She understood completely that her place would never be in his heart, but she fully believed that she would find room in her heart for him, if only to be a good Queen for him and for Ferelden.

She remembered all the years her mother had tried to force proper etiquette down her throat in hopes that even though she was some years younger than Cailan would be a suitable candidate for his bride. Her father had known better, seeing all along that Maric and Loghain had arranged for Cailan to marry Anora. Some of it had stuck with her, and Gwendolyn tried to remember it all. _Never follow too closely,_ her mother would say,_ the nobles will get the wrong idea. You wouldn't want them thinking you were just some wanton lover._

These were her thoughts as she passed several of Eamon's servants, still tending to the castle's minor wounds and dust that had gathered since the Darkspawn attack. Many looked upon her knowingly, as if what she was to become had been clearer to them before she even knew it herself. Three days she had rode with Bann Teagan, and only on the third day did he tell her why Eamon asked her to Denerim.

She told him then, even before they had arrived, that this was acceptable. Perhaps she had known all along that this was the Arl's intention. Why would Teagan take her to Denerim and not Highever? It had long puzzled her, and then he had presented her with the answer.

She passed into her room quickly and pulled the door closed behind her. Gwendolyn began to untie the straps of her leather riding suit, and a long held ritual stemming from her time among Chantry sisters, she began to pray.

_Oh Maker, hear my cry._

_Guide me through the blackest of nights._

_Steel my heart from the temptations of the wicked._

_Make me rest in the warmest of places._

She dropped her leather to the floor after removing her boots, and made quick strides toward her dresser as she continued to pray from the Transfigurations. Each verse silently passed through her mind as she brought a solid red dress over her head, flattening it against her body and pulling free any fabric that got caught on its way over her.

"Oh Maker, hear my cry. Seat me by your side in death. Make me one with your glory, and let the world once more seek your approval. For you are the fire in the heart of the world, and comfort is only yours to give." Gwendolyn finished her prayer allowed as she approached a small vanity near the corner of her room.

For a moment, she regarded herself, her dark skin, her dark eyes, and her ungodly long hair. Her fingers reached up to gently pet a small pendant which hung from a now visible golden chain. It was a golden symbol of Andraste's Flame, which she had received from the man she loved nearly two years ago. It had been his promise to her that he would one day be worthy of her. Perhaps now, if he had survived the attack on Highever Castle, or rather the torture he received after protecting her, they could have been married… And she would never have had to come and meet the man downstairs.

Gwendolyn let the pendant fall outside of the confines of dress, and the symbol glittered in the dim candlelight. Her hands reached up to untie her hair, and her fingers immediately went to work combing through it and flattening it as best they could. With a soft sigh, she turned away from the mirror and sat down to pull on a small pair of slippers. She did not feel like putting her boots on underneath a dress.

Her prayer seemed to work, as Gwendolyn's mind felt free of some of the weight that had been upon it since she had arrived the day before. She felt some sense of focus as she entered the dining hall. The only seat left open was near Alistair, but she had expected this. Only a brief pause in the door way separated her entrance from taking the seat beside her future husband.

When he watched her approach the table, Alistair immediately noticed the pendant around her neck. It was the same symbol as his mother's amulet, which he still wore close to his chest beneath his armor. It seemed important to her, and this was only made clearer as she sat down next to him and fingered the pendant, as if to make sure it was still there.

She looked a lot more proper with her hair down and wearing that plain red dress. It was obvious that she was not a fan of the dresses that most Ferelden nobles wore, and much preferred the flowing fabric of the same style she wore. Gwendolyn raised her gaze from her pendant, and looked to Alistair. They exchanged glances during a hushed silence, one that dispersed as breakfast began.

Cian weaved in between chairs, sniffing out anything that might have gotten dropped. He seemed most fond of Connor out of everyone at the table, but maybe that was because the boy was the most eager to sneak something off his plate to the hound. Gwendolyn seemed aware of this, but she did not scold her Mabari. She simply grinned and watched him lick Connor's hand every time a crunchy piece of bacon was dropped to the floor when Eamon wasn't looking.

She did her best to make idle conversation with Alistair, if only to make the conversation that would come after breakfast less awkward. Once they were all done eating, she knew Eamon would ask her and Alistair into his office to make arrangements for their wedding. It was inevitable, and the sooner it was done, the better for Ferelden.

"Did someone from your family give you that necklace?" Alistair asked, motioning to the pendant around Gwendolyn's neck.

"Ah.. No, actually. Ser Roland Gilmore, one of my father's knights.. He gave it to me."

"I'm guessing he was more than just one of the Knights…" Alistair stopped himself short, trying not to assume too much.

"You're right. He wasn't just one of the Knights." Gwendolyn sighed sadly, reaching up to touch the pendant again. "I'll tell you another time. The table isn't the right place to discuss it."

"My mother had a really similar pendant. When she died, it was given to me. I broke it when I was ten years old, because of some silly things, but the Arl fixed it for me. The Hero of Ferelden found it in Redcliffe Castle and gave it to me before we left."

"At least you got it back, for the memories. That's why I still wear this one, to remember him by."

He nodded understandingly, and let the conversation die with his last mouthful of sausage. He did not want to press the subject any farther, believing in her earlier statement that it wasn't a proper subject to talk about over breakfast.

Eamon's office felt different. Maybe it was because it was Gwendolyn that walked with them instead of Linara, or perhaps it was the lack of Anora's presence off to the side. Whatever it was, Alistair couldn't will himself to stand still. Gwendolyn, however, seemed to stand off to the side like a statue. He wondered how she could manage it, as he was very sure that she wanted this as little as he did.

"For Ferelden's sake, the wedding should be as soon as possible. Your coronation would take place at the end of the ceremony, Gwendolyn, as it always has… I can try to have it arranged within the month," Eamon scanned the pair of them, looking for some sign. He must have found it in Alistair, who blinked in disbelief.

"Within the month? Isn't that _too_ soon?"

"The sooner the better, I'm afraid. Anora holds the title of Queen until a woman better suited to the crown would marry you, and then Ferelden and the Chantry have every right to remove her from that seat. Solving this problem quickly will decrease any chances of her gaining more supporters in the Landsmeet than you, even now that the Blight is finished," The Arl practically scolded him, and like a child, Alistair looked away and grumbled.

"He's right, Alistair. Anora doesn't take kind to losing anything, least of all the crown. If anything, marrying… marrying me faster would convince her of your seriousness, and maybe even gain her support if we take it easy on her." Gwendolyn turned to look at him.

Alistair returned the glance, noting that she was just as serious about this as Eamon. He could see in her eyes, however, that she was indecisive and uncomfortable. He sighed, knowing that the road before them would probably be a bumpy one with lots of crying and grief and finding peace together, like a King and Queen were supposed to do together anyway.

"And what is taking it easy on her, Gwendolyn? Saying, 'oh, I'm sorry, but you aren't good enough to be Queen anymore. Here's a considerably less fancy title to make up for it!' I think that would work perfectly," Alistair returned sarcastically.

"Actually," His future Queen stifled a chuckle," I think that would be a lot nicer than anything else you could do. Give her the lands of her father, at the very very least. She served Ferelden well, and was a good Queen in her day…Unless you would rather follow in your brother's footsteps and marry her?"

"No! No, no no! I told Eamon before the Landsmeet that I wouldn't even look at her if I could help it, yet alone marry her. That's why you're here in the first place. If I had wanted to be anything like Calian, I probably would have married her as soon as the Blight was done."

"Point taken," Gwendolyn conceded," It wasn't my place to challenge you like that so forwardly. Forgive me."

Eamon looked between them as the lady's remark brought the conversation to an idle. He sighed, and with a clearing of his throat, brought the conversation back on topic.

"If you would like to return with Alistair to the palace, I can have your things packed up and brought to you by the end of the day. I'll send a seamstress after you tomorrow to take your measurements and prepare your wedding gown."

"There's just one thing that I don't want to get touched or moved around, so I'll take it with me. I'll be right back… Meet you downstairs, Alistair."

Gwendolyn happily took the chance to get out of the room, and as Alistair watched her go, he had a distinct feeling that the next few weeks would be interesting ones.

Eamon walked with him down into the main hall, trying to console him as best as he could. He told him that it was best for Ferelden, and that he would learn to love her at some point. Alistair could hardly believe that, but had he learned to love Linara during all that time gathering an army and fighting the Darkspawn? He didn't want to think of it like that, and he quickly changed the conversation.

Rather than listen to Eamon try and make things better for him, he simply asked questions about Gwendolyn that he hoped Eamon could answer. Turned out that Teagan knew her better than Eamon could ever hope for, and it was he that chimed in and answered Alistair's mix match of questions.

"So.. Teagan, I hope you can tell me something about her other than where she came from.." Alistair turned away from Eamon to look at the Arl's younger brother.

Teagan nodded," We talked for most of the ride to Denerim. I could probably tell you most of the little things you'd like to know about her. Favorite Color? Red, beyond a doubt. She's devoutly religious, but that probably has something to do with her time at the Chantry over the past year. I don't think I've ever heard a woman pray so much in my life."

Alistair blinked and looked up the stairs, as if to make sure Gwendolyn wasn't yet on the return. When he didn't see her, he asked yet another question.

"Did she love anyone, before she came here?"

"Well, I'm told by the Reverend Mother that one of the Templars there took an incredible liking to her, and was originally stationed to protect her in case Arl Howe's men came as far as Rainesfere looking for her. She feared that he had broken his vows for her, but it could never be proven. He left the Chantry himself shortly before we came to Denerim."

Alistair took that as confirmation that something had happened between Gwendolyn and this Templar, and he gave the man credit for deciding to abandon the Chantry on his own. The Lyrium withdrawal would be terrible, but at least he chose it rather than being forced into it.

Gwendolyn came down the stairs with a moderately sized vase in her arms, lidded tightly and seemingly very precious. Even when her Mabari came close, she held onto it tighter like she was afraid she would fall and break it. Alistair wondered what was inside it. She didn't seem like the one to worry about a piece of pottery.

"Okay," She began as she came to stand next to him, " I'm ready to go."

Eamon and Teagan said their good-byes, and Alistair walked outside with Gwendolyn to meet his guards. The head of them bowed to the latter in greeting.

"Good to meet you, your ladyship. We will leave as soon as your knight comes out of the stables with your horse."

"My.. Knight?" Gwendolyn blinked at him, a little confused.

"Yes, Lady Gwendolyn. He came in from the marketplace with something to help your horse calm down shortly after you went inside with the King."

"Huh… Alistair, could you hold this? Please be very careful."

Gwendolyn passed the vase to Alistair carefully, and when he took it into his hands, he found it remarkably light.

"Sure.. Uh.. What is it?"

"Ashes."

She went into the stable without so much as another word, but she didn't need to say anything more. Her words were enough to convince Alistair to be -very- careful with the vase. He was, however, just as confused about this Knight showing up as she was. Part of him wondered if the Templar that had guarded her in Rainesfere decided to follow her even here.

Cian ran into the stables ahead of his mistress, barking excitedly. It seemed like the hound knew exactly who was in there, and was very happy and eager to see them. This made his mistress nervous, and as Gwendolyn opened the door, she heard someone speaking to her hound.

"Hello, Cian. You sure seem happy to see me," a man laughed. She knew that voice.

"Leland?.."

Cian leapt out of her horse's stall, barking in response to his mistress' inquiry. She was for once, not happy to hear that positive response. A tall, black haired man followed the hound out of the stall, slowly leading Gwendolyn's horse out. He looked up from the hound and smiled briefly at her.

"You look well."

"Leland Ramsey! Are you crazy? Why did you tell them you were my Knight?" She scolded him as quietly as she could.

Without a doubt, this Leland Ramsey was handsome. His impressively angular jawline established this in stone. His skin was a dark shade of tan, likely from all of his days spent out on patrol. His armor was of a pitiful mix, some splint mail and some plate. She could not wonder any longer why the guards had probably questioned his motives for being there, but even so, she couldn't forgive him for calling himself her Knight. The last man to be a Knight under her service died an agonizing death, and truly, all she wanted was to be free of Knights in general. Especially tall, handsome ones.

His grey eyes glittered at her," Come on now, you already know the reason to that. They wouldn't let me see you if I had said anything else. I'm sure they wouldn't have liked hearing that the Templar that guarded you back at Bann Teagan's lands gave up Lyrium and followed you all the way out here. They probably would have killed me 'out of mercy'."

"Don't talk like that, Leland."

"Fine, point taken that it was a little morbid. If you want me to leave, I'll take your horse to the palace and disappear.. I swear on the Maker. I just wanted to see if you were serious about this." He came up beside her with the horse, towering over her as he always had.

"Serious about marrying the King?"

"Yeah. That."

"I have no choice." "There is always a choice, Gwen. You were the one that told me that."

"Yeah, in your case there was. You wanted out in the first place. I have to do this… I wish you could understand that," She tried to take the reins from him, but he held them over his head and out of her reach.

"Very well, _your Majesty. _Lets just get you to the palace, and we'll talk more when we stand less of a chance of being overheard."

They emerged from the stables with Cian squeezing out ahead of them. He was clearly trying to keep his distance from the horse, still very mindful of his mistress' earlier scolding. Alistair watched the man who emerged from the stables with Gwendolyn, and he seemed to know almost instantly that this was indeed the Templar Teagan had spoken of before. He could tell a Templar just by looking at them, even if they weren't wearing their armor. That training takes it's toll on you, and he saw it in this newcomer.

Leland watched Gwendolyn carefully, like the ever present guardian. However, Alistair saw something in the man's eyes that he had often looked upon Linara with. There was love in his eyes, mindfulness of her every move, but then there was something else. Envy. Maker's breath, was there envy in his eyes. Why he would envy the woman, Alistair wouldn't know for a long time.

"Alistair, this is Leland Ramsey. He guarded me when I was in Rainesfere."

Gwendolyn's introduction confirmed it, and shortly after Alistair handed her the vase, Leland took his arm in greeting, bowing low afterwards.

"I am honored to meet you, your Majesty."

The King nodded to him and tried to be reasonable. There was no reason for him to be jealous of the man after all.

"Hello, Leland. Will you be staying at the Palace as well?"

"I don't believe so. I don't wish to be any trouble to the lady than I already have been."

"Lets go then, hm?" Gwendolyn ushered the guards along, standing beside Alistair. She did her best not to be next to Leland.

Behind the guards, Gwendolyn, and Alistair, Leland led the lady's horse along. He watched her idly chat with the King, doing her best to slowly introduce herself into his life even before they were passed the gates. She was a noble woman, this he knew well, but he had never seen it as clearly as he did in that moment. She carried herself so well, grace in each and every step that she took on their way to the palace.

They talked of the Hero Of Ferelden in brief passing, of how much Denerim would be changing over the next few months. She told him of her upbringing in Highever and discussed returning at some point. The King seemed eager to go with her. It had something to do with a Grey Warden who had passed away at the battle of Ostagar. Slowly, their uncertain, straight lined mouths turned into pleasant smiles. Change had already swept over the woman he loved, turning her into a creature he could not recognize.

Already, Gwendolyn Cousland was proving herself an excellent candidate to be Queen.


	3. Bridges Burned and Bridges Built

This chapter will begin a short series of flashbacks within the actual plot to show how Gwendolyn has changed in all the time since and before the attack on Highever Castle. I wanted the picture of her innocence being lost painfully clear, because it will be important later on.

UPDATED

* * *

"_Rory! I can't see!" Gwendolyn's words were lost in something between a chuckle and a plea._

_She was certain that no one else would like being on a horse and blindfolded. However, it was all a little more bearable with Roland Gilmore behind her with one arm around her waist and the other holding the reins of the horse, racing somewhere that she couldn't guess at. His breathy laughter tickled her ear, for he seemed to enjoy her feigned displeasure._

"_Don't you trust me, my lady?" He teased her, whispered so close to her ear that she felt his smirk against her flesh._

_She couldn't help but smile at this and murmur in return," Yes."_

_The smell of the ocean teased her nostrils now, and for a moment, she thought she knew where she was. Highever was very close to the sea, and part of her dared to think that he had taken her to the beach. The sound of his horse's hooves against stone only shattered this hope. Wherever he has whisked her off to, Gwendolyn did know know it well._

_The horse slowed to a stop, and she felt Ser Gilmore's arm leave her waist. The warmth of him behind her was gone, and then his hand was on hers. "Don't take the blindfold off yet, but come on down. I'll catch you."_

_Blindly, Gwendolyn slid from the saddle, feeling Ser Gilmore's careful hands slide up her sides and hold her steady when her feet hit the ground. She didn't have to see him to know he was smiling. His happiness was like a contagion in the air. They stood there for a moment before he took her hand again, and lead her a few feet away from the horse._

_His hand never left hers, but the free one swept her blindfold away in one swift motion. It took her a moment to once more find peace with the light of the sun, but once she did, she was not in the least bit disappointed._

_Her Rory had led her out to a small cliff overlooking the sea. It was truly a sight to behold, a pure blue color so unlike the dark waters nearer to Highever's port. It was hard to tell where the sea ended and the sky began, little wisps of clouds marring the lovely blue above. Dark green moss covered most of the cliff, and Highever could be seen in the distance to the west._

_She turned her head to look at him, and Ser Gilmore stood there, looking back at her. His red hair was starting to get long, longer than how far he usually let it grow. His face was freshly shaven, and Gwen was glad for that. She thought red-heads looked weird with beards, or even a moustache. He seemed to agree with her whenever she brought it up, and much to her joking pleasure, only part of his facial hair grew in right._

"_I figured some alone time couldn't hurt, since I'll be leaving with your father to go to Ostagar in a few days," Roland Gilmore kissed her on the cheek and sat down just a few inches from the cliff side._

_Gwen followed after him, allowing no space between them. Neither of them had worn leather, or even armor, on that incredibly short ride. If he hadn't found her the day before and begged her to wear a dress, she probably would have had one big, thick lair of metal put between her and the man she loved. Now, it was just a few layers of cloth, so thin she could feel the warmth of his skin against her cheek as she pressed her face against his arm._

_Being around him was an opiate to her, calming and relaxing in every way. Roland Gilmore had a way of treating her as if she were a queen, and his every word rang like music in her ears that left her comforted and sure. No other man ever put an electric shock down her spine simply by brushing his fingers against her cheek, and no other man could ever make her heart flutter like the wings of a butterfly._

"_It is your off day. I sure hope my father thought nothing of it when I went into the city alone."_

_Ser Gilmore just smiled down at her, sensing all the teasing and humor in her tone. He enjoyed her little quips of humor, and often tried to return them as best he could. It was a good way to make her smile, and Maker's Breath, did she have a beautiful smile._

"_Maybe the guards are looking for us now, having been tipped off by your old Nan that I've snuck into your room at night a time or two.."_

_A year ago, it probably would have worried him a lot more. He remembered stolen glances in the hallways, hushed conversations in empty rooms, and most painfully, how many times he had tried to convince them both that they shouldn't play these games with each other. Maker, how he hated telling her that and blinding himself to how he really felt._

_Ser Gilmore was undoubtedly _not_ the first man in this position, in love with a woman whom he had served all of his teenage life. For many years, he tried to write off every thought of her, pure or impure, as the senseless musings of an adolescent boy looking for a girl to work out all of that strange, uncomfortable stress._

_But Gwendolyn Cousland was relentless in letting him know that she felt the same way, unwavering in her affections, and steadfast through whatever blocks he tried to put between them. Two years of cat and mouse, and the magnificent feline beside him had finally won. He loved her all the more for not letting him give up, and he regularly let her know that._

_Half of it was Gwen's loyalty to him, but the other half was his own devotion now. He did all he could for the Teyrn. He was the first to volunteer for anything, eager to prove that he was whatever a man could ever be. He wanted nothing more than to be worthy of the lady at his side in the eyes of others, if only so he could marry her and become one with her in the eyes of the Maker and break no hearts or contracts in doing so. He refused to run away and elope with her, no matter how nice the thought sounded in his dreams._

"_I bet Cian is driving everyone mad trying to find me. He tore apart the armory last time trying to get my scent." Gwendolyn laughed softly at the memory, echoed by Roland at her side._

"_That Mabari is the most troublesome hound I have ever seen in my life."_

"_He might be troublesome, but sometimes.. You are too, Rory," Gwen smiled at him, lifting her head from his shoulder._

_They exchanged a meaningful stare, and Roland Gilmore reached up to push some of her hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. There was silence for a moment, a love that was to remain unspoken and unknown aside from the two of them. Even that slight touch made the lady's smile widen, and her Knight couldn't help but smile in return._

"_That's why you love me," He said softly, and whatever distance had been between them closed._

_His lips met hers in a gentle greeting, swiftly turning into a massive tangle of tongues. If only they had known that it would be their last day to spend together, maybe they would have taken things more seriously. Maybe they would have ran away and eloped just to have more time. Maybe, she would have still been able to smile and laugh without feeling forced._

All of those things, Gwendolyn would have given her soul for. She truly missed him, and the passage of time did nothing to ease her loneliness and grief. Having his ashes just made it a little worse, especially when he was just about to be thrown into a pile of corpses after the attack. She remembered how shocked Bann Teagan had been when she threw herself at the feet of the guards and begged them to burn him separately. ..

She was glad she was alone in her room, if only for a few short minutes. It allowed her time to reflect, even if she had plenty of it back at the Chantry. Leland elected to get her horse comfortable in the palace stables, offering her the time she needed to think about what she would do. A desk in the corner of her room practically called out to her. Could she write to Fergus and ask him to take this man as a knight?

Cian whimpered uncomfortably in the corner of the room. He seemed aware of his mistress' thoughts and stood from his place by the fire to trot over to her and snake around her legs. His fur brushed against her dress, reminding her that she was not alone. Perhaps that was the best part about having a Mabari.. They were damn loyal, and it took a lot to kill them.

Gwendolyn set her vase of ashes, Rory's ashes to be exact, on top of a small dresser and crossed the room to reach this desk. She was relieved to find it fully stocked with parchment in the drawer, along with pigment and solution to mix ink. The well and quill were just next to the little vial of pigment, and she set away quickly to knock an obstacle out of the way. It was her duty to be Ferelden's Queen, at least soon, and she did not want to compromise that.

Leland had found his way to her room before she could even put pen to paper. Taking a seat in one of the chairs not too far away, hee looked at her for a moment, and he sighed.

"You're a lovely lady, Gwendolyn, and a strong one. You will be a good Queen."

"I'm more concerned about being a good wife; I know I can handle the Queen thing," She turned to look at him, holding his gaze for a minute longer than she should.

"Its going to be hard for the both of you, I think. He just lost the woman he loved, and the man you loved sacrificed his life to get you out of that Castle when Arl Howe attacked. I think Roland Gilmore and Linara Mahariel would be happy beyond the Fade, if they could see the two of you happy."

"Maybe so, but I do not want to intrude on her memory. I think that's part of the reason he was so quiet today. He must have memories of her everywhere… Only place that I think of Roland incessantly is Highever, and I may not be going there for awhile."

"Do for him what you did for me, then." Leland reached out, putting his hand on hers.

"What was that?"

"Support him, and comfort him. Lead him through his personal crisis, and give him what he needs. You know what it's like to lose someone you love because they wanted you to live. I think that's a good place to start for the both of you." He gently patted her hand, and then retreated. Touching her made him anxious and uneasy. It still felt like a sin to be so near people.

"You had a crisis of faith, Leland. It was nothing like this."

"Do you not think that what happened to him will be such a crisis in the end? If I lost the woman I.. loved, no matter how I lost her… I think I would question the Maker and his reasoning. In the very least, I would demand repayment at some point. I think you are the only person I know whose faith in the Maker strengthened when you lost someone…"

"Where do I start, Leland?" Gwendolyn leaned forward in her chair, regarding the paper upon her desk.

"Talk to him about her. Share your own stories. Connect with him on at least that, and start building your bridge."

"Is this why you came? To advise me when I cannot think of what to do on my own?..Why did you really come, Leland?"

Gwendolyn blinked at him as she leaned her head into her hand, pressing her palm near her temple. She was surprised at how he reacted at the question, leaning back in his chair and staring right back at her. His grey eyes didn't betray a single sign of anything less than thought, and after a moment of silence, he spoke.

"I thought you would need me, Gwendolyn."

"Why? You left the Chantry because of me, and I didn't want that. I told you that you must have been a Templar for a reason… The Maker must have plans for you."

"I had a dream, about you. It wasn't long after Bann Teagan found you in Rainesfere, really. This woman came to me in my sleep, reciting Transfigurations and shining like a beacon of absolute light. I couldn't see a thing, but at the end of the verses she told me that you would need me still. I would have to protect you someday… I thought she was Andraste."

"So.. You think that Andraste came to you in a vision, and told you to protect me? When did this start? After you quit Lyrium?"

"Somewhere around there.. Yes-"

"Then did it ever occur to you that it might just be the effects? You aren't invulnerable from it, even if you hadn't been a Templar for more than a year or two."

"I believe in it, Gwendolyn. If the Maker has a plan for me, like you said, then this is probably it. I would be hard pressed to do anything better than serve my Queen."

"If.. If that's how you feel," Gwendolyn picked up the paper and held it over her candle just long enough for it to catch, at which point she tossed it on the stone floor," then I won't send you to my brother. I'll talk to Alistair about having you Knighted."

The paper burned up quickly, catching nothing else around it aflame. Leland regarded it quietly, and he stood after a moment. To him, things sounded like they were settled.

"I'll go down to the barracks then, and get myself set up.."

Gwendolyn did not stop him.

The rest of the day passed in awkward spaces of time in which Gwendolyn did her best to converse with Alistair whenever they were together. Much to their equal displeasure, Arl Eamon made sure that they had plenty of time to sit there together and think of things to say in a crippling silence. Gwendolyn did not want to bring up anything involving Linara Mahariel, fully aware that there was not a single more sensitive topic in the entirety of Ferelden.

What surprised her was that when they were sitting together in her room, Alistair had the nerve to ask her about Leland.

"So.. That Knight of yours. Is he the Templar who protected you in Rainesfere? The one that supposedly broke his vows with you?"

"W-what?" Gwendolyn dropped a log into her fire a little early, sparks skittering across the hearth and at her feet. This question hit her hard, and disturbed her.

"Leland. Did you- well, you know."

"Of course not. I respected his duty to the Maker. Whatever rumors of our involvement are strictly false, and are going to come up undoubtedly when a man spends his every waking hour keeping watch over a woman."

It sounded like a reasonable explanation, and Alistair had no reason to doubt her. He took this answer for face value, if only because it clearly bothered her to be asked about it. He wondered if she had done exactly what Linara had done to Zevran: Treated him like the closest friend in the world until he made a pass, and then closed that door forever.

Maybe, just maybe, Gwendolyn had already devoted herself to the idea of being his wife. He had to face it, but there was no getting away from that. Surely, news of their engagement would spread across Ferelden and the rest of the outlining countries like wildfire. Their wedding would be large and celebrated, and the night following would be awkward.

He could not yet convince himself to look at his perspective bride like she was a woman he would have to kiss, and even sleep with, someday. It was less uncomfortable to treat her like a friend, but still the two of them struggled with contact knowing their eventual fate.

Gwendolyn sat in the seat next to him again, Cian curling up at her feet as if there were no better place in the world.

"He wants to stay and protect me, because he thinks Andraste came to him in a vision and told him I still needed him."

"That sounds like someone I know." Alistair chuckled. Leliana came to mind immediately.

"Is that so?.. You must be talking about the Orlesian Bard that traveled with your group. I heard stories that she had all of these weird feelings about the Maker.."

"She told us that the Maker had wanted her to help us stop the Blight. Sent a vision to her and everything. I thought she was a little cracked, but Linara believed her.. And they were best friends."

"Did they talk together more than you did, with Linara I mean?" Gwendolyn inwardly winced, but it would have to come up eventually.

"No, not really. I didn't mind letting them have their girl time doing each other's hair and whatnot.. But sometimes, it got a little weird."

"Don't even tell me! When someone says that, my mind drifts and goes places that scar you for eternity.. But I've come to find that some men find that kind of thing attractive.."

"Oh no! No, not what I'm talking about at all! It's just that Leliana would always talk to her about shoes, and try to put bells and things in her hair. Chased Linara around the camp for ten solid minutes trying to braid her hair with some really loud, jingly bells…"

And then his ease of speech suddenly fell away, like he was hit with a wave of regret and grief all over again. Gwendolyn bit her lip, and did what Leland advised her to do.

"Y'know.. When I still lived in Highever Castle.. There was this Knight, Roland Gilmore. He, my brother, and I used to play together all the time when he was just a stable boy. He was my best friend then, and when we got a little older, we started to have different kinds of feelings for each other."

"He had just recently been knighted, so he tried to push me away a lot. Said it wasn't right, that he and I shouldn't be together and all of that stuff that you probably heard from Linara at some point.. But I wouldn't let him go. I just kept trying until he gave in, and we spent the night together."

"When Arl Howe attacked my home, he ran up to my room with my mother and escorted me out the servant's passage. We got out just as the intruders got in, and I saw them decapitate my father after they got past my mother.. He had to drag me out to get me to his horse.. And he just tossed me up and hit that poor thing so hard on the back side that he took off like lightning. I turned around long enough to see Thomas Howe shoot him in the back.."

Alistair looked at her now, and she had leaned her head in her hands. Her hound had perked up and licked her arm, trying to get her attention in the least.

"So, when you think you're alone.. You aren't. Someone died to keep me alive too. I have lots of good memories about him, and you've got just as many memories about Linara, probably. I guess it's a weird time to kick you out of my room, but it's probably best that we think about this some."

He couldn't help but nod, knowing that she was right. His body stood up from his seat almost against his will, and he said his good-byes to his future wife.

Passage through the halls gave him time to think about what she said to him, and he wondered how it would have felt to actually see Linara die. It was a painful thing to let pass through his mind, but Gwendolyn had watched the man she love get shot down in front of her very eyes, and all he did was see Linara carried out of Fort Drakkon. Linara died to stop the Blight, to save him and everyone else.. But Roland Gilmore.. He died to save Gwendolyn. Maybe he, in extension, did a little bit of the saving Ferelden thing too, by keeping its future Queen alive. His sacrifice was based on his duty and his love, just as Linara's had been.

Maybe, just maybe, he had more in common with her than he thought. Knowing her for only one day, however, was not nearly enough time to make this assumption.


	4. Fire and Tears

__UPDATED

* * *

_Gwendolyn had managed to sleep as if the world were completely peaceful. It was not until her hound began to growl and bark that she was stirred from slumber just in time to see Roland Gilmore barge into her room, panting, sweating, and covered in blood. It didn't take a genius to know that something was going on, and he didn't even have to tell her to get into her armor. Gwendolyn Cousland had jumped out of bed and nearly charged her chest of chain mail armor the moment she caught sight of the man she loved._

_At first, she could hardly move when she saw blood all over him. She had once hoped to never see him after, or during, the heat of battle. It was a thought that caused her to be uneasy and frightened for his life. She thought that losing him would be the worst thing in the world, and she had never realized before that moment how painfully easy it would be for her to lose him. One false step, one quick stroke.. And her dreams would be dashed._

_How tragic that tonight was the night for all of those things to disappear._

"_Hurry." He said simply. It was perhaps the only word he could get himself to speak before he closed the door behind him to fight soldiers that had came into the corridor._

_Roland Gilmore was at that moment more determined than he had ever been in his life. Adrenaline flooded his veins, overtaking his blood in one fell swoop of realization: He too could lose everything he had ever wanted. It was his duty and his singular desire to protect the woman beyond the door behind him, and Maker help the man, but he would rather die than see her struck even once._

_Maybe his determination came off in his courageous stance against the four soldiers that entered the corridor. The archer stayed his arrow for one second too long as Ser Gilmore raised his shield and blocked the shot. He came forward so quickly that Howe's archer spent his final moments of life chocking on his own blood. The other three soldiers were surprised by this one man's level of defiance that they took longer to retaliate than they should._

_The clanging sound of metal, anguished cries of agony, and all of the other harsh noises that come with battle urged the young lady to arm herself quickly. She opened the door just as she had pulled on her boots, and without issuing a command, Cian ran out of her room in a blaze of Mabari glory, tearing down a Howe soldier before he could wheel around and defend._

_Ser Gilmore had held his own admirably against the three men that remained, and the relief brought by the hound was welcomed. Gwendolyn was quick to enter the fray, and together the three of them stopped those that had come to kill the Couslands as they slept._

"_Are you alright, Rory?" Gwendolyn came to his side quickly, breathing heavily from even her short moment of battle._

_Her Rory could only smile at her in an attempt to lighten her worries, "I'm fine. They didn't hurt you, did they?"_

"_No. They didn't touch me at all, thanks to you."_

_They embraced for the moment, no matter the blood and gore that had covered them both. Roland Gilmore wouldn't tell her, but the only thing on his mind was getting her out of the castle safely. He knew it had to be done before Bryce Cousland had stopped him and ordered him to his daughter's chambers. What he didn't know, was that it would be the last time he would see the girl in his arms._

"_Gwendolyn!"_

* * *

"Lady Gwendolyn? Are you awake? Arl Eamon sent us to take your measurements!"

Gwendolyn was startled from her nightmare by an unfamiliar voice, a voice that surely belonged to the seamstress that the Arl had spoken of the day before. She was not pleased that they had come so early in the day, but at least they had spared her the discomfort of watching all those she had ever really cared about die as she slept and could not escape.

She stood out of bed and wrapped her bed robe over her before she moved to open the door. She was surprised to see an older woman, perhaps the same age as her own mother, standing in the door with another woman that was probably her daughter. She imagined the older woman looking very similar to the young one beside her when she was that age, red haired and bright eyed. This was no longer the case. Red had turned to grey, and brightness had faded with age. However, one thing remained constant. They seemed to always be in good spirits.

The older woman smiled at her, "Well, three Royal wedding gowns and every single one has been for a woman more beautiful than the last. Even for having just rolled out of bed, you look beautiful, Lady Gwendolyn."

"Thank you, miss…?"

"Arachne. This is my daughter, Persephone."

"Please, come in. We can start doing whatever it is you need to so as soon as I wake up a little more."

"That's fine, my Lady," Arachne began as she and her daughter followed Gwendolyn into her room," We understand that it is a very early hour, but we want to get started on the actual dress as soon as possible. I delight in bettering all of my past accomplishments, and I must find a way to make your gown more stunning than Anora Mac Tir's gown when she married Cailan."

Gwendolyn simply nodded at the woman as she took a seat by her dead fire. Cian had followed her all around the room, begging to be fed, but he would have to wait. The hound seemed to pick up on this when his mistress sat down, and with a displeased huff, he curled up at her feet.

The Queen-to-be was quickly distracted by what ashes usually made her think of after dreaming of her most frequent nightmare. It seemed that she would not be free of her dream, or at least not yet.

* * *

_The ashes littered the cobblestone walkways of the castle, but there were more fires raging and blocking any route that Gwendolyn had considered with her mother and Ser Gilmore. The only route they had available was to pass through the main hall and take a lesser traveled passage to the larder. There, Gwendolyn could escape through the servants passage._

_The high walls of the castle were beginning to crumble from the fires. Howe's men had likely taken the castle at that point, and if they had not, then they would shortly. Roland cursed Howe for this for many reasons, but the taste of betrayal and battle was thick on not only his tongue, but the tongue of every man and woman still alive. It effected the Teyrna more than him, or probably anyone else._

_The Couslands had trusted Howe. He knew that. They knew that. Andraste's knickers, everyone knew that! But still, this was happening. Why? What had made Howe decide to attack his own Teyrn, the very man who had gotten him the title of Arl in the first place? What kind of ruthless, backstabbing, cold-hearted son of a bitch was Rendon Howe really?_

_Roland Gilmore was sure to keep close watch on the woman he loved, and the woman he was sworn to protect. Rarely ever did he let a single guard slip through to attack her. The truth was that he was beginning to wear down as the kitchen grew closer and the screams of tortured servants rang through the air._

_The young Lady Cousland and her mother were soot covered at this point, dirty from fighting and running. The Knight ahead of them was no exception to this, but his determination made it easy to forget that he was not the perfect knight in gleaming plate armor. His feelings about the fight were infectious, and most of the Teyrn's men that saw him found their own reasons for fighting harder and defending their castle._

_Roland Gilmore was a pillar of hope no matter how dire things were beginning to look. Gwendolyn appreciated him even more than she thought she ever would, but she worried just as much. He charged into every small skirmish and guarded her as if his entire body were her shield. She did not like this at all, even if it was simply because she feared for his life._

_He gave up his devoted defense of his lady long enough to run ahead to the kitchen and pull the door wide open, signaling those that had followed him toward the opening._

"_Through here! The kitchen isn't blocked!" Ser Gilmore announced as he held the door open, in case someone had missed the memo. Cian darted past him to make sure no one would harm his mistress when she entered._

_Gwendolyn and her mother followed the hound into the kitchen, watching him sniff around briefly before he bounded toward the larder door. Cian seemed very certain that there was someone in there, and the elder Lady Cousland ran after him. Gwendolyn entered only after a hurried glance over her shoulder._

_Ser Gilmore was already beginning to barricade the door with whatever he could drag away from the walls. First to go were a set of heavy boxes that required both his effort and the effort of the Young Lady Cousland to get into place. It would surely not be enough, but he refused to allow her to help any longer. She had to go after her mother. They both knew it, and it required no spoken words to be expressed._

_Gwendolyn ran into the larder, and her steps caught in her surprise as her eyes found her father. Her mother was next to him, sitting beside him like a doting wife. He was wounded, badly wounded, and there was nothing either of them could do. She was not the only one who felt this, for her mother glanced toward her in something bordering on fear._

"_Daddy.." Gwendolyn said softly._

_The childlike tone that often came with the nickname had risen over her lady-like voice so swiftly that it caught the attention of all of those that were still in the room. Her father looked at her sadly, but he smiled when his eyes could not._

"_Gwen.."_

_This was enough for her to rush to his side in a fashion similar to that of her mother. Again, the Cousland ladies looked at each other, and then to the lord of them all._

"_I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you.. If I had been awake when it happened.."_

"_Don't. Gwen.. You need to get out. Someone… Has to tell Fergus.." Bryce Cousland was struggling with his words now. The severity of his injuries was certainly more than skin deep._

_Eleanor and her daughter once more exchanged worried glances, and in their silence, the two women realized that there was nothing they could do. The eldest Lady Cousland reached over to her child, her hand smearing the blood upon Gwendolyn's riding leathers, and she sighed._

"_Go through the servant's passage with Ser Gilmore. I will stay with your father."_

* * *

Gwendolyn realized that she was on her feet about when the youngest of the two seamstresses had begun to take her measurements and the eldest began to look through pieces of expensive looking cloth. The pair of them were humming some tune that they had likely known all their lives, and at her feet, Cian glanced up at her with concern. The mabari seemed to be the only one with concern toward the state of the future queen. Then again, who but this hound would know what she is like on a daily basis?

"Y'know.. This isn't the first time I've had to finish a gown in a month," Arachne teased, glancing at Gwendolyn from behind a handful of white silk," Anora and Cailan's wedding was very rushed. Got married one month exactly after King Maric passed away."

"I remember. I was still a young girl.. And I used to envy her."

"But not when you realized that the man-child was really a lying dog with his head up any skirt he could get his hands on, am I right?"

Gwendolyn turned to the oldest seamstress, forcing the youngest to come around her for her measurements. The look on Arachne's face betrayed a seriousness that she could not deny, and that only surprised the future Queen more.

"Alistair won't be like that," Gwendolyn responded, mostly to benefit herself. She wanted to believe that he wouldn't be like that at all.

"It's in his blood. Maric was an Adulterer, and so was Cailan. Maybe Alistair's Templar upbringing will teach him better than to abuse his heritage to lure dreamy-eyed women into bed.."

The Lady Cousland suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and she turned away from the elder to set herself apart from her again. Arachne took the silent message easily, and fell silent without saying another word. She had given her warning, and she had done what she meant to.

* * *

"_Lets go, Gwen."_

_Roland sat his hand on her shoulder, having tried to barricade the door to even the larder. He did his best to give them as much time as possible, but he knew it was running short. The pleading look in Bryce Cousland's eyes told him it was time to go, and even when Gwendolyn refused to move, Ser Gilmore decided to begin dragging her away._

"_No! We can't just leave them, Rory! You can't expect me to leave my parents to die! You can't!" Gwendolyn struggled with him at first, as she had allowed herself to cry._

_Her protests were loud and choppy in his ears, but there was little he could do but hold her close to his chest and drag her backwards. He did not slow his pace until the man he served called for him._

"_Ser Gilmore!"_

_The Teyrn raised his head, glancing to the Knight in silence for a moment. But when he spoke again, something was made clear. "Take care of my daughter. "_

_Ser Gilmore stopped for only a moment, slipping both of his arms underneath Gwendolyn's shoulders. He struggled to keep her still and in his grasp, but his attentions were focused on the teyrn. Bryce Cousland looked at his knight fiercely, and in those eyes, there was a knowledge of something Roland hadn't expected. He _knew. _The Teyrn knew about the Knight and the Lady.._

_Roland shook his thoughts away, and gathered up his energy to drag Gwendolyn through the servants passage. Cian followed suit, whimpering at his loudly protesting mistress. The poor Mabari couldn't do much more to calm her, as he was quite certain her flailing arms would hit him if he tried to comfort her._

_Gwendolyn opened her eyes when she caught the sound of destruction coming from the kitchen. It set off an alarm inside of her, and she used whatever strength she could muster to cast herself toward the hidden passage back to the larder. She almost slipped away from her knight, but he refused to let her go._

"_Gwen.. Come on!" He begged her in a hushed voice, "Stop."_

_She just cried, and struggled more. Over her own frightened squeals and angry attempts at freedom, she could hear battle. Her mother was trying to protect her father in vain. "Let me go, Rory! I want to help them! I want my parents!"_

"_No. He told me to protect you, and I wouldn't be doing my job if I let you go to die!" Roland Gilmore cast her in front of him, blocking her way down the passage._

_They went back and forth for a moment. Gwendolyn would not relent from trying to bypass him. She did her best to toss herself passed him, but he would not let her go. He would catch her, and push her ahead. This went on until he shoved her far enough forward, and continued to do so until they were outside._

"_Gwen.. You know what you have to do. We can't go back.. We have to keep going or they'll get us too."_

_It hurt to realize that he was right. Perhaps Gwendolyn froze in her steps because she did not want to believe him, but Roland wasn't going to let that stop them from getting away. He grabbed her by the hands, and he started running. He ran as fast as his armor would allow him, and he dragged her all the way._

_Her thoughts were elsewhere. They were behind them, in Highever Castle. With her parents. With her nephew and his mother. They were with the dead soldiers and their families. They were with her Nan, lying cold and dead on the kitchen floor. Her thoughts could barely be called her own, for every single part of them had been consumed in grief._

_She was practically like a doll behind him. Her legs carried her robotically, occasionally giving way to a knotted tree root. They ran into the wooded patch of land near the castle, and they could hear Howe's men pursuing them in the darkness. She could see torch light waving about the woods in the distance, and she could hear Roland's breath. He was having trouble continuing the pace._

_Survival was all that pushed them. They were both very aware of it and so was Cian. A low growl came from his throat the longer they ran. The hound seemed to be more aware of their surroundings, and he did his best to lead Roland out of the brush._

_They emerged just outside of Highever, quite close to an unguarded stable. The Knight's mind was scattered and unsure of what to do, but he knew that he had to get Gwendolyn out. He continued to pull her along behind him, toward one of the horses. His movements only hurried when the sound of Howe's men grew louder from the forest._

_He tossed her up without question, put the reins in her hands and wound them up in both of them._

"_Gwen. Look at me.. Look at me, my love.."_

_She looked at him, as blankly as any woman could ever look at a man._

"_I love you.. I love you so much.. But I can't let them hurt you. I need to get you out of here…"_

_He walked behind her, and she twisted to see him standing behind the horse. As he raised his hand, it became obvious that he would not be following her._

"_No.. Roland, don't. Get on a horse and come with me…"_

_He ignored her, and with a sigh, spoke again. "Ride as hard as you can, and no matter what you hear or see.. Don't stop until you're safe.. I love you, Gwen.. May Andraste keep you safe.."_

_Roland Gilmore raised his hand even higher in the air, and with one swift stroke, he struck the horse hard on its rear end. The horse reacted immediately, and it jumped over its fence and fled down the road. Away from him. Away from the Howe's and their soldiers._

_Cian ran after his mistress, barking a good-bye to the Knight he had known since he was a pup. He knew what was going on, and he meant to do for his mistress what the Knight would have done, should he have followed. Cian was going to protect Gwendolyn, and corral the horse so that it would not turn back._

* * *

"Lady Gwendolyn.. Are you okay?" Persephone whispered to her.

Gwendolyn raised her hand up to her face, and felt a wet trail descending down her face. The eldest seamstress seemed not to notice, but Persephone was keenly aware.

"Yes. Yes, I'm alright." And it was a blatant lie.

The youngest of the two women attending to her chose not to press the matter, and she allowed Gwendolyn to quietly stew in her thoughts. It had been a year since that day. Three hundred and seventy-one days, to be exact. Three hundred and sixty days since she had arrived in the Rainesfere Chantry. Three hundred days since she had met Leland. Fourteen days since Bann Teagan found her and brought her to Denerim. Thirty days until she married the bastard child of King Maric.

Those thirty days could not go by slow enough.

* * *

AN: Why the name Arachne? One, I couldn't think of anything better. Two, Arachne is the name of a Greek character who prided herself on being the greatest weaver in the land, and she challenged Athena, only to lose and be damned to spin cloth for eternity. Spiders get their scientific name from her.

Also, I'm so sorry that the update came so slowly. I meant to post it as soon as I got back from a family vacation before college started but I didn't get nearly as much done as I thought I would. And then some more really awesome stuff kept me preoccupied. I apologize. I will try to update more often from now on now that I could this little sweetheart out of the way.


	5. Succession

UPDATED

* * *

Two weeks passed in a blur of pleasantries for Alistair and Gwendolyn. Arl Eamon demanded and enforced the mandate that the two absolutely had to sit and at least try to talk each day before and after any kind of governance had to be done. It was painful for them both in the first few days of this routine, but it became natural to sit together for an hour or two in the morning and continue that at night. However, a Landsmeet was to occur shortly before their wedding in order to formally remove Anora from the throne, and with only a week and four days between this event and holy matrimony, Denerim was bustling with preparations and visitors.

Leland was busy helping the Royal Guard in Denerim make sure that everything would be safe. The tension in the air tasted like uncertainty. It seemed to him that the people were not sure if this marriage was the right one. It seemed to him that so many people wanted Anora to remain Queen, but he had faith in Gwendolyn. To an extent, he had faith in Alistair too. After all, he was King Maric's son. Alistair had it in his blood to be a great king, and Gwendolyn had been raised for this, to marry for political gain.

The workers of Denerim were busily repairing all of the damage that still remained from the attack. Roads needed to be repaved. Roofs needed patching. Houses needed painted. Banners had to be hung all around the city, declaring pride in Ferelden and its future rulers. The good news about all of this was that the workers received payment from the treasury of the not-yet-named Arl of Denerim. They could pay for food, that is, until the next abysmally low harvest came in. There was a chance that Ferelden could not feed its people so soon after the Blight, and that put a gloomy veil over the wedding preparations.

And then, there was the ruling class. Arls, Banns, and the one current Teyrn, flooded into Denerim for the Landsmeet. They came with gifts for the wedding, supplies for their extended stay, and practiced speeches for the days ahead. Some of them were even prepared for battle. The days ahead were uncertain. Their future was bleak. Many of them prayed that their new queen would be strong where their old one was not.

Anora. Well, Anora was waiting. She waited to take part in the Landsmeet, to step down from her crown, and to sit under the banner of Gwaren. She understood that it was no longer her place to be Queen. She did not blame Alistair for refusing to marry her. It was all too clear to her that they would never get along. Gwendolyn suited him much better. She told everyone that these were her reasons for stepping down almost two weeks before the wedding. There was something else. She was too strong to admit it, but she missed her father. She had not permitted herself time to grieve. The time had come.

The new Teyrn of Highever was adamant in finding his little sister in the Palace. Indeed, he arrived so early in the morning that the guard had paid little attention to his arrival. After all, far more nobles would soon come flooding in. Fergus directed himself to his sister's room, quite aware than she would still be sleeping. He had inquired about where she had been staying the night before when he arrived in Denerim and paid a short visit to Arl Eamon, and he couldn't wait to see his baby sister.

He opened the door to Gwendolyn's spacious quarters slowly, gaining the attention of Cian. The mabari raised his head off of his paws in alert. He stood at the sight of a familiar face and began to dance around in place, excited. Fergus was glad that Cian did not charge him in hopes of scraps from breakfast like the old days.

Like the old days, Fergus sat down next to her on her bed, careful not to disturb her. He felt far more careful now, eager to look at her for a moment before awakening her. He wanted to see how much his sister had grown in the year it had been since he saw her last. Gwendolyn looked older to him, even in her peaceful slumber. She kept her hair braided in order to keep it from tangling all around her body as she slept, and he knew this to be a tradition. Sooner or later, he could not help but reach out and brush his little sister's hair out of her eyes.

"Wake up, Gwen."

Gwendolyn's eyes were hesitant to open, as if the morning was not welcomed. At the sight of her brother, however, she seemed far more willing to wake up. A smile stretched across her face.

"Fergus! How long have you been in Denerim?"

"I just arrived this morning. I paid a visit to Arl Eamon, since I wasn't sure where you were staying. Thank the Maker you're alright, little sister," Fergus reached out and hugged her as soon as she sat up, finding a blip of happiness to take for himself.

"Thank the Maker _you're _okay. I would be more afraid of Darkspawn in the Wilds than I would ever be of Arl Howe and his men!" She hugged him back, thankful for her brother's health.

"I brought you something of mother's that was left in the Castle at Highever for your wedding. I'll give it to you when it is closer to time, but… I saw it and I knew she would have wanted you to have it. She would be so proud of you, Gwen. Father too."

"Proud of me for marrying Alistair, or proud of me for being alive?"

"Both. Mother would be proud of you for becoming a Queen, and so would father.. But he would commend you for surviving all of the terrible things that have happened to us since Ostagar," Fergus said sadly.

Gwendoyln saw in his expression that he was mourning the loss of his wife and son. That loss would haunt him for the rest of his life, of that she was certain. They may have lost their parents together, but Fergus had lost something so precious she could not yet comprehend it herself. Seeing the pain in her brother's expression made her fear such attachments, but she knew they were soon to come. She had to sew herself to Alistair to solidify their future.

"I'm sorry about Oren and Oriana, Fergus. If there was anything that I could do.."

Fergus stopped his sister short," I know. I know. I miss them, but… There was nothing that could be done. Second guessing my choice to lead the men to Ostagar isn't going to bring them back…. But that's enough of that. I thought that I would come upstairs and wake you up for the Landsmeet. I'll wait outside your room and escort you to the chamber, if you like."

"That would be great. We have a lot of catching up to do, Fergus."

The eldest Cousland stood and smiled at his sister," Oh yes. I'm certain of it."

Cian had quickly evacuated the room with Fergus when he left, and Gwendolyn was thankful for it. She wanted peace that morning. She was not anticipating the Landsmeet in the least. The future queen knew what awaited her: the prying eyes of Ferelden's nobles, the scrutiny of every woman, and the formal recognition as Anora's successor. That day was the beginning of the rest of her life. There would be no backing out once Anora Mac Tir gave up the throne.

Gwendolyn peered at herself in her vanity mirror as she dressed herself in a flowing green gown. The pendant Rory had given her shinned dimly in the light that came in from the window. Her hair fell into waves as she slowly unwound it from its protective braid. Her eyes began to seem a little bit more awake as she combed out the tangles in her brown locks. She looked presentable, and that was enough for her.

She left her room only five or ten minutes later to find that Cian and Fergus were waiting for her patiently. Her Mabari stood up and barked to her in greeting. Her brother merely smiled at her as he began down the hallway, moving slowly so she could catch up.

"What do you think of Alistair, Gwen? Do you think you will be good together?"

"Ah. So this is what you wanted to talk with me about, huh?" Gwen laughed, trying to stall, "Alistair is… not what I expected really. I never knew he was going to be a Templar before he became a Grey Warden, that is until we started being confined to the same room for a few hours a day. I think he is a good man, but a little naïve at times. Like Cailan."

"I hope he isn't like Cailan."

"You're the second person to tell me that, you know, but in all honesty, I wouldn't be very happy if he was like Cailan at all. Don't get me wrong, Cailan was charming, but Alistair is as well in his own way. Sort of like a Mabari pup, all curious but still too scared to go charging in," Gwen grinned.

"Hopefully you'll make him less afraid. Those nobles will get him for that, you know. They'll tear him to bits."

Fergus was right. The Landsmeet was not a place for nice guys or children. It may be a place of debate, of governance, and of judgment, but that did not mean that any of it was fair.

"I don't feel like it's my place to try and do that for him yet."

"If you don't, then someone else is going to come in and start playing puppeteer with him, like Eamon. He won't admit to it, but Eamon has his own intentions for putting Alistair on the throne, I assure you."

"I'll keep that in mind, Fergus. It seems that I need to readjust to life in court…"

And that life in court, well, it was about to leap out at Gwendolyn and force her into adaptation. Judgment had plans for everyone that day.

* * *

Out in Denerim's Market, Alistair was hotly tailed by Arl Eamon, searching for a gift that would suit his future bride. The Arl had suggested it the day before, met Alistair at the gates to his estate, and was now aiding the poor boy in his search. There were many fine gifts that had been imported from Antiva: silks, soaps, sachets of dried flowers and exotic spices. Hand crafted jewelry from Amaranthine was what caught the attention of both the Arl and the King.

"I can't believe I never got her a ring," Alistair sighed to himself, " I never even thought about it."

"I have arranged for the wedding rings to be crafted, but if you see fit to get her a ring to belatedly celebrate your engagement…"

The Arl did not want to force the matter, but rather hoped to see if the King would make this choice himself. It would be a measure of Gwendolyn's worth in the eyes of the other nobles. They would all be there after the Landsmeet, eager to see how Alistair would treat his bride-to-be. It was just the same when Cailan had quickly married Anora. So many of the Banns had looked to pick apart what might have been a weakly balanced arrangement.

"It has to be perfect. Everyone is going to see me give it to her.. Ugh, this is miserable. Do I really need to get her something?"

"I think it would be best, Alistair. The people need to be convinced you will be good to her."

Alistair felt the pressure. Eamon had been drilling it into his skull for the last few days, insisting that most of his attentions should be to Gwendolyn that day and not to the arriving nobles. He was never once told what to do, and because of that, felt the familiar butterflies of anxiety stirring up in his stomach. He wanted to look at something in that jewelry and suddenly realize it was perfect for Gwendolyn, like when he saw the rose in Lothering and wanted it for Linara…

And then it happened. Something jumped out at him from among the gems and golds and silvers. He would give it to her after the Landsmeet, where every noble could see his meager attempts at spoiling her.

* * *

By the time Alistair had returned to the Palace, the grand majority of the nobles had gathered in the Landsmeet chamber. The room sang in a broken chorus of conversation and rumor mongering as Anora stood in the middle of it all, awaiting her opportunity to speak. Gwendolyn sat with her brother underneath the banner of Highever, watching Alistair as he approached the throne. He could not help but watch her too. It was the only connection they would make before Anora stepped down from the throne.

The current Queen had fixated her eyes upon Gwaren's crest, hanging above an empty seat like a looming reminder of the death that had taken place in that room only months ago. She imagined her father sitting there, watching her as she stood aside for the Queen everyone wanted. Would he be angry with her for giving up? Would he be proud of her for knowing it was time to give in? Would he have supported her decision to return to Gwaren? She could only guess as the chamber was called to order by Arl Eamon.

"It is time for Queen Anora to speak before she is formally removed from her throne. My lady, whenever you are ready," Eamon bowed to her, waving his arm in a show of attention.

He was civil and courteous, but that was only because it would affect how he was seen. She knew it, but she didn't let her bitterness escape into her voice as she set her eyes on the woman that would replace her. She wanted Gwendolyn to feel every word she said. She wanted her to know that this could happen to her at the slightest mistake.

"When my father returned from Ostagar alive and my husband did not, I knew that something was very wrong. When Arl Howe came to Denerim, I knew that things would get worse. I cannot apologize enough for my blind belief in my father. I understand now that he was manipulated by an evil man, using my father's passion for Ferelden to accomplish his own means. Many people died because I did not see this soon enough. Maybe if I did, Bryce and Eleanor Cousland would still be alive to see their daughter take my place."

She paused for a moment, as if to collect her thoughts and feelings. Anora wondered how she could convey everything she had thought about in the months that had passed since her father had been killed. Much of her mind went to how she had pondered on the choices of the Hero of Ferelden, and essentially, the entire world. She thought of the Dalish Elf that had said no to her continued reign. She thought about why Alistair would be of any good to Ferelden. She made sure to look at Alistair as she began speaking of the elf that had passed on.

"I am glad to let Gwendolyn replace me as queen. It is no longer my place to be such. If it were, Linara Mahariel would have made sure of it, but for whatever reason, she chose Alistair to rule Ferelden. Now that she has nobly sacrificed her life and happiness for us all, I see no reason to try and defy her wishes. She must have seen something in Maric's bastard child that would make him a good King, and I will not question her Dalish wisdom. Alistair has a kind heart and a gentle hand with which to rule this land, and I believe that is what Ferelden needs right now."

Anora saw Ferelden's King grow unsettled in his throne at the mention of Linara Mahariel. She knew why. Indeed, everyone did, but it brought her some pleasure to know she had struck a cord in him as she moved on to speak about the next, and hopefully the last, woman in his life.

"And my successor, Gwendolyn Cousland, she is an honorable woman. I am confident that she will guide Ferelden and her King on the path that will lead to restoration and prosperity. My presence will not be missed, nor well remembered, but should the people of this court see to give me my father's lands, as Teryna of Gwaren, I will pledge my allegiance to Ferelden and her future Queen. May the Maker smile on your union and your rule, Lady Cousland."

Anora bowed softly, passing her gaze along to those that were gathered. She looked at Alistair again, and she saw in him something like understanding. At least, that's what she hoped she saw. If it was not in his mind to return Gwaren to the Mac Tir name, then certainly Gwendolyn would plant it there.

Anora's dethronement was officially recognized by the chantry, and her crown was taken so that it would be placed on Gwendolyn's head immediately following her marriage to Alistair. The young Lady Cousland would be crowned and married under the watchful eyes of the Maker, and hopefully blessed with the wisdom to guide her country.

* * *

AN: Finally, I managed to crank out a short update. I feel really bad for letting this sit for as long as I did, but I finally found motivation to continue. I hope that motivation sticks around.


	6. Opened Doors

Gwendolyn found herself looking at Alistair each time his opinion would be asked. He made this face that she found adorable as he tried to think of a good answer. His brow would furrow. He would bite his lip and look at the floor like he was mapping out a plan. His answer would come shortly after this face was made. Eamon never had a chance to convey his opinions to the new King, and she felt that the opinions he conveyed on the throne were at their most genuine. The Arl still had to sit at the banner of Redcliffe. He had no way to whisper his wants to Alistair from so far away. She wondered if it was within her power to keep it that way.

She agreed with her brother that Alistair could easily be influenced by the opinions of the Arl. After all, Eamon raised him for several years, even if some of those years were the most miserable of Alistair's life. They had a connection similar to that of father and son, which she understood to be one of the most powerful in life. However, Gwendolyn felt that it was her duty to corral Alistair away from him. If he were to be a good King, he should not use the Arl as a crutch. He needed to learn to rule on his own.

Following the Landsmeet, Gwendolyn sought Alistair out. She found him quickly, for he had gone about finding her as soon as they were dismissed. He smiled at her as a sign of greeting. She returned it, but noticed a nervous air all around him. She began to question the reasons for it, but said nothing about it as they came together in a sea of nobles.

"I didn't bore you, did I? I tried not to let things go on too long," he said.

"Not at all, Alistair. You did fine."

Her encouragement seemed to reach him, for he stood taller and smiled brighter. She felt appreciated, and that made her feel better too.

"I hope we don't do this every day until the…err… the wedding. It'll make the week too long," Alistair looked around. He felt eyes on him.

"Are you anxious for it to all be over with?" Gwendolyn blinked.

"To get married? No, not really. Its just that all of the chatter will stop, and maybe the nobles will leave us alone, you know? I'd like to have a chance to really get to know you, without set time frames and schedules.."

"That's a sweet notion, Alistair, but the nobles will never leave us be," Gwendolyn moved closer to him, whispering," we don't always have to meet when Eamon allows it, you know."

Alistair felt his heart skip. It sounded like a flirtation, something that Linara would say to him with this big grin on her face to get him into bed. He knew better than to think that of Gwendolyn, however. She meant it literally, but the jump in his chest alerted him to a sobering fact. He thought her attractive, and he no longer felt disinterested in having her in his bed.

In recent days, he had noticed the way her hair always fell over her right shoulder, how her flowing dresses framed her in a portrait of womanly curves. She was still strong, and he could see this through the thin fabric of her gown. Her sinewy muscles were always working, and he thought himself to be going mad each time he noticed this. He could not help but compare his reactions to her to his reactions to Linara, and that simple fact frightened him. He did not want to compare her to the Hero of Ferelden, but what choice did he have when he had only loved one woman?

It was clear to everyone around them that the betrothed couple reciprocated feelings of attraction after just a few short weeks of being around one another. Every nobleman's eye was on the way they looked at one another, watching as Alistair would lightly touch her shoulder to guide her away. Every noble watched them as they removed themselves from the gathered crowd.

Alistair would not feel right giving her his gift in the middle of everyone. He knew some people would not see, would not hear, but given their new position, it was far more likely that every concerned party would see him offer her his perfect gift.

"Eamon asked me to come to his estate this morning, to talk about you and I, preparation for the wedding. On our way to the palace, I.. uhh.. I saw something that I wanted to give you. It reminded me of you when I saw it, and… I.. I thought it was fitting." Alistair was nervous as he reached into his pocket.

The little case fumbled around as his shaky hands struggled to grasp it and Gwendolyn watched him in silence. When success was finally his, Alistair held it out to her, " I hope it fits."

Gwendolyn took the small box into her hands, prying it open. She was curious and surprised, but she knew that this had to be at least a little bit of a stunt. This fact did not bother her when she peered inside, and caught sight of a small silver band, encrusted with amber colored gems.

"Its beautiful Alistair…"

Gwendolyn smiled, removing the ring from its box and slipping the ring onto her left ring finger right where an engagement ring should be. It fit. Alistair seemed to be relieved at the sight, and he sighed loudly.

"Thank you. That was very kind of you," his bride-to-be reached out and hugged him. Alistair returned it willingly as he looked around.

Many nobles immediately looked away, appearing disinterested in their small meeting away from everyone. Only Arl Eamon returned his glance as he nodded with approval. Alistair had finally done something right at court.

Alistair and Gwendolyn took their meal together that night, away from the Arl or Fergus. It had been her idea, and the King had openly agreed. He wanted a chance to talk to her without feeling pressured, and it felt like almost every time he saw her, there was someone or something pushing him to be someone he was not.

By the time he had arrived, Gwendolyn was already sitting at the small table, where dinner awaited him. She had pulled back her hair in the time that had passed since that morning, and she still wore the ring. Cian had found his way to her since the Landsmeet and lay out in front of the fire as if he had died there. The mabari's mistress turned her head toward the king and smiled.

"Good evening, Alistair. I'm glad you decided to come."

"I thought about what you said earlier, about meeting with or without Eamon's knowledge. I don't think its his place to tell us when we can meet or not," Alistair sat down on the other side of the table, quick to introduce himself to his meal.

Gwendolyn watched him for a moment in silence before biting into the bread that had been left with them," I understand Eamon's concern about our relationship, I do. His insistence was necessary before but not anymore. I'm comfortable enough with you that I don't need someone locking me up in the room with you."

She chuckled and glanced up at Alistair as he reached out to slice off a piece of cheese to go with his own bread, "Are you a fan of that kind of cheese, Alistair?…"

"I am! Where I trained as a Templar, we used to have it at dinner from time to time. I used to sneak out to the larder to steal a piece sometimes. I really love cheese."

"It's made in Highever, but I don't know what its called. I just know it by the color. They made it on a farm not to far from the castle, and we always had a fresh supply," the young Cousland reached out to slice of a piece for herself, eager to indulge and remember.

"Have you been down into the larder here yet? They keep a fine supply of cheese! I think the cooks will start locking it before too long. I'm fond of sneaking down for a midnight snack.."

"You should take Cian with you sometime. He would appreciate it, I'm sure." Just as Gwendolyn spoke, the mabari rose up from a deathlike sleep and rolled onto his belly, wagging his small tail incessantly. She only laughed in response. "It looks like he heard us talking about snacks and knew he had to be involved."

Alistair looked at the mabari, who returned the gaze with his head tilted to the side. The mabari barked at him good-naturedly, and continued to wag his tail. Cian seemed far more friendly toward him than Linara's mabari had ever been.

"He's going to keep looking at you like that until you give him a scrap, I think."

Alistair just nodded as he continued to look at the mabari," Do you like cheese, Cian? Or how about a piece of this meat?"

Cian's ears perked, and the mabari barked once more as he stood and trotted closer to the table. He sat down at Alistair's feet obediently.

"Will he eat cheese, Gwen?"

"He's a mabari. He'll eat anything," she laughed softly.

The king instead cut off a piece of the meat that he had yet to touch and sat it down at the mabari's feet. It was not a large cut, but the mabari was satisfied enough to have a taste. Sooner or later, Gwendolyn would take him down into the larder for his own meal, and then he would not feel the need to beg.

"He likes you. Usually, he doesn't take so kindly to men other than my brother and my father."

"Maybe he know I'm going to be part of your family soon," Alistair noted.

Gwendolyn had never thought of it that way, but then again, Alistair did not really have a family. Even though she would take his name, he would become part of the Couslands. He had no real family left anymore, save for his few nieces and nephews that survived the Blight, but they were in the Maker's hands now.

"I think that's what it is, too."

Alistair reached down at gently patted the mabari on the head, looking across the table at it's mistress. Gwendolyn seemed to be watching them both closely, so closely that she barely noticed how nervous he was. There were things he wanted to say, wanted to share with her. Eamon had told him not to say anything yet.. But he felt like she should know. It would effect her more than him anyway.

"While we're eating, there's something I thought I should discuss with you.. About after the wedding. Eamon sent for a mage to.. Uh.. To help us concieve. Since I'm a Grey Warden, it might not happen. The mage he sent of has spent a lot of time helping other noblewomen concieve.. So, she'll be here by the time we get married. Just in case we… consumate our marriage that night."

"He sends for this kind of help so soon when it took five years for people to start questioning Anora's reproductive capabilities?… Its nice to know he has faith in me."

Alistair leaned back in his chair," What do you mean by that?"

Gwendolyn's eyes widened in the realization that what she said might have been taken badly. Indeed, there were many things she had said to him over the last few days that could have been interpreted in a way she did not mean. Deep down, maybe she did mean them that way. Maybe she was so lonely she was willing to just throw herself at him..

"I didn't mean it as in, that I'm a skilled woman under the covers!.. Not that I'm bad at it… It, it just seems strange that he would already send for this kind of help. We aren't even married yet. Andraste's Flaming Girdle! We haven't even kissed yet, let alone thought about climbing in bed with one another!"

Alistair was a little surprised to see her so flustered about it, but then again, Linara had been touchy about the prospect of children too. She had always told him she had dreams of having a big family, and when she became a Grey Warden, all of that had changed. He had never really thought about it, but given his current position…. He had to.

"I thought it was weird to, but I think that we might need the help later on. The girl is supposed to be a capable healer, and the Templar accompanying her is supposed to be an excellent swordsman. The Grand Cleric told me he's going to help train the guard while the mage is serving us, and he'll be there in case something goes wrong."

"How could something go wrong?"

"The mage their sending is one of the few survivors of the Right of Annulment at the Circle. She had ran out with some of the children to the Templars before things had gotten too bad, so they didn't execute her. Her name's Serena Amell, and the Templar's name is Cullen. After they're done here, they're supposed to go to Kirkwall."

Gwendolyn chuckled," Why to Kirkwall? Why not back to the Circle here in Ferelden?"

"The Templar in question suffered a great deal under the blood mages that rebelled, and the Knight-Commander thought it in his best interests for him to get out. First Enchanter Orsino in Kirkwall has interests in the mage's skills, and the Knight-Commander in Kirkwall wrote to the Grand Cleric in Ferelden for her to be sent up as well. Orsino thinks a Spirit Healer will be a positive influence on the mages there, but Kirkwall has always been a bad place for mages…"

"Do they teach you all about which Circle is good and which is bad in Templar training?" Gwendolyn said, sipping from her goblet.

"No, but one of my trainers was from Kirkwall. He knew the Knight Commander before she was one, and she always hated mages. A Templar should never hate mages, only want to help them. It just turns into a blood bath otherwise. Literally and metaphorically," Alistair was glad to have lead the conversation away from talk about kissing and consummating marriage. It had made him uncomfortable. Talking about Chantry politics came to him much, much easier.

"My mother's midwife was a mage, when I was born. My mother's birth had been very rough, and if the woman helping her hadn't been a mage, she would have died. The magic she used stopped the bleeding… With people like that out there, it's a wonder that mages aren't given more respect."

"This coming from a woman who, I'm told, is more religious than anyone I've ever known. I guess that you're on of the few who interprets Andraste's sermon about magic differently."

Gwendolyn smiled at him softly and nodded," Magic has so many uses. Natural magic, good magic that can be controlled, has so many services to mankind. Blood magic, though.. Blood magic destroys everything. The Templars don't need to worry about most mages, just the ones that openly practice blood magic."

"I thought so too. I've never really trusted mages, but I don't think that every one of them should be caged.."

His fiancé looked across the table at him, having finished her meal over the course of their discussion, "It seems we can agree on a lot of things, Alistair."

"It does, doesn't it?" He chewed quietly on a piece of bread, fully aware of how closely she was looking at him. He tried not to think about it, tried not to let it get to him, but he could not help but wonder just what she was thinking.

"Would you dance with me? No music or anything, just hold me and sway?…" Gwendolyn asked him hesitantly.

Alistair looked at her and blinked as he swallowed down what had been left of his meal," I uhh.. I don't really dance."

"Then its probably a good time for me to show you," Gwendolyn stood up and came around the table.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to run screaming out the door in fear. Alistair did not really know why she would want this, but more important than that was that he was terrified of actually touching her for more than just a brief interaction. He feared that he would find the feel of her skin too familiar, too much like Linara's that he would forget himself. And that would be terrible.

Gwendolyn took his hands, pulling him up and dragging him behind her to a more open part of her chambers. He liked the feeling of her hand around his. It was soft, but he could feel the strength in her fingers. Alistair did not yet have a cause to fear. He had always thought that her hands would feel something like this, but he was not prepared for when she guided one of them to her hip and held the other not too far away from them.

"You stand like this, with your hand right here," She reaffirmed the statement by patting his hand against her hip," and you hold my other hand like this, with your arm out a little. Right here."

Gwendolyn adjusted the distance, trying to smile and reassure him. It was not working too well.

"And then we sway. We can work on waltz steps later. I'm sure Eamon will make us dance after the wedding.."

She began to sway first, and Alistair only followed after her urging. He found this all very odd, and this notion was only made more certain when Cian circled around them. However, it was not unpleasant. He did not find himself comparing her to Linara as they danced. He had silk beneath his hand, not leather. Her small hand was strong and smooth in his own and did not feel as delicate as Linara's had.

He lost himself for the moment, becoming very aware of her in the silence. Her eyes really were the color of the amber stones in the ring he had bought for her. The skin of her face was smooth, paling from all the days she had been spending in the halls of the palace. Her collar bone was so pronounced and angular that he followed the curvature underneath her bare skin to her shoulder, and then down the embroidery of the dress. She was beautiful, he admitted. Beautiful in a way far different than Linara. Gwendolyn Cousland had a beauty about her that only a human could have.

"You're doing very well, Alistair."

"We're just swaying, is all.." He said gently, only vaguely aware of her voice in the air.

"We could try waltz steps tonight, if you like.."

"No, no. I don't think I'm ready for that yet. I don't want to step on you," Alistair admitted. This only gave rise to a chuckle from Gwendolyn's chest.

"Well, alright."

They danced a moment longer before Gwendolyn let go of his hand and stood still in front of him, looking up at him. She had not realized how much taller than her he was, but it made her feel like he could protect her. She was more than capable of doing that for herself, but Alistair seemed like an unbreakable fortress as he stood above her, looking right back at her. He left hand had remained on her hip when she had released him from their swaying dance, and his right hand quickly found its way to the other side of her hips.

"You're a beautiful woman, Gwen," Alistair practically blurted, quite incapable of stopping himself. His hands would not leave her hips, so he might as well admit the reason why.

"The Maker has an odd sense of humor, doesn't he? Putting us together like this and expecting us to come together so quickly.." Gwendolyn acted like she didn't hear him, but he knew she did. She had blushed at him. Blushed.

"Can I know what it's like to kiss you before we get up at that Altar? Can I?"

Gwendolyn could not ignore that. He knew it, and that's the reason he said it. The truth was that he wanted to kiss her before their wedding. He knew that she thought about it too, and he knew that right now would be the most romantic chance he would have at it. Alistair did not give her much of a chance to respond. He had already began leaning forward to her.

His bride-to-be looked into his dark eyes upon his approach, watched him hesitate just a little as his lips hovered over hers. He wanted some kind of approval, hunted for it in her eyes. He found it there, sparkling among all of the amber flecks. He found it in her as she stood up on her tip toes, reducing the space between them so that their lips met so softly that they scarcely felt the contact. The kiss was chaste and innocent, that is, for the moment.

It was Gwendolyn that first showed any signs of passion. She stood up a little more, deepening the kiss and feeling Alistair's lips against hers clearly. There was some sigh that escaped in the back of his throat, something like a release of pressure. He had not felt this in months, months that had felt like years, centuries even. He knew it had been longer for her. He knew it had been more than a year since she had kissed a man with even the slightest feeling, and it showed. She hugged onto him now, and he thought that she did not want him to leave her room that night.

But he would, eventually. The kiss was only an opening of a door, a sign to them both that this could work. They were not prisoners in a game that they could not win. Gwendolyn and Alistair now firmly believed that they could make the best of their fortunes together, and they remained together in her chambers for much of the night, talking about their past. Laughter came easily to them now. All around the castle, it was apparent that Ferelden had found a King and a Queen that could rule together, and not separately. Ferelden had found monarchs that would lead them out of the darkness.

* * *

And now we can finally get things moving at a better clip. I'm so glad that I managed to get to this point, because this is where the story will start getting fun to read. Thank you for all of your support, reviewers. It really means a lot when my phone goes off, letting me know I've gotten email only to find that it is a review or an alert, or even a favorite!


	7. One Last Day

"Alistair… Wake up. Maker's breath you sleep like a rock. Wake up!" Gwendolyn gently shook Alistair as he slept, unceremoniously awakening him from what was a restful slumber.

"Ugh.. Gwen? Is something..uh.. Wrong?" Alistair blinked at her, sleep still fresh in his eyes.

"No. Nothing's wrong. I just have a surprise for you, but it requires us getting out of the palace before anyone sees us."

Gwendolyn's hands were warm against his shoulders as she shook him once more, trying to reassure herself that he would awaken. In his current state, he could not help but enjoy her touch. He looked up at her and noted her rather drab apparel, and he suddenly realized that she was serious.

"Where are we going?.."

"On an adventure. Don't you want to get out of here for a little while?"

"What about Arl Eamon? Won't he get worried?"

"I've taken care of that already! Now get dressed. Its almost time to go," Gwendolyn stood up from her seat just next to him upon his bed, and started toward the door.

She looked back at him as she opened the door, looking at him with insistent eyes. He sat up and waited for her to exit the room. Alistair did not feel comfortable letting her see him only in his smalls.

Outside of Alistair's bedroom, Gwendolyn leaned against the opposite wall with Cian at her feet. The mabari sat down, waiting for the adventure to begin. The mabari had sat with his mistress all night, listening to her as she decided what she would do when they woke up that morning. He knew that she had wanted to do this ever since the night that her future husband spent with her at dinner. He remembered them dancing.

They would be married in four days. The Landsmeet would not convene until after the ceremony, and then they would be welcomed at a small estate at the shores of Lake Calenhad for their short honeymoon. She wanted one last chance for it to just be the two of them getting to know each other in an environment that would not confine them together, and she wanted that last chance to be free of the palace, free of Arl Eamon, free of entitlement.

Her dress had been completed the day before, and it was made of gorgeous red silks, embroidered with golden roses. When she had tried it on, the corset that had been put together for it held her well, accentuating her body in a way that she hoped would aid the progress of her wedding night. Part of her could not wait to stand before the Maker, marry Alistair, and become Queen of Ferelden. The dread and fear that had overwhelmed her soul not one month earlier had gone from her. All that remained was excitement and joy.

Alistair emerged from his room, wearing a set of clothing he had acquired during his stay in Denerim. It did not draw nearly as much attention as his golden colored armor, and to Gwendolyn, it brought out the sort of plainness that she was sure Linara had seen in him in the past. The armor made him look much more regal, but seeing him standing there in a simple, loose shirt and leather trousers just made him 'Alistair'. It suited him.

"Is this inconspicuous enough for your surprise, Gwen?"

"Yes it is," she smiled as she reached for his hand," come on. We have to hurry."

He felt a bit like a criminal, sneaking around behind her with Cian at their feet, sniffing the air as if to figure out if anyone was coming. They made it to the gates without incident, and they ran out as quickly as they could. To Alistair, Gwendolyn seemed to be as excited as he had ever seen her as she continued to lead him away. He wondered what she had in store for him as they began to walk through the streets of Denerim. She did not let go of his hand.

"Will you tell me where we're going yet?" Alistair asked softly.

"Nope," Gwendolyn responded with a wide smile.

They walked along with those that were on their way to the market place that morning and gathered little attention among them. Alistair was clearly glad for this, and Gwendolyn watched him relax for every minute they went unnoticed. They remained in the flow of Denerim's walking traffic all the way to the market place, until Gwendolyn began to lead him out and away toward a small looking cottage. The sign above the door read: Denerim Bed & Breakfast. Were they simply going to take their morning meal together?

* * *

_Arl Eamon,_

_After reviewing the schedule for the day, I decided that Alistair and I should have a day to ourselves. Since we had no other plans, I have arranged for us to escape the palace and interact as any other man and woman should. We will return to the palace shortly after night fall, and I will send a messenger to let you know we have arrived safely to our home._

_Please do not attempt to find us, I would be sorely disappointed if our day were to come to an abrupt end because of your interference. I am trying to do my best to become the wife that Alistair can adore, love, and produce an heir with. I understand that at least one of these things is of your supreme concern, and if I am ever to gain his child, I must first gain his love and care. I refuse to carry a child inside of me whose father does not love me or the little one._

_I do not intend to play these political games, but I fear it is the only way I can guarantee myself the methods I believe in when it comes to developing a relationship. Before you send anyone to find us or follow us, please consider that there will be consequences to it. I just want time alone with him._

_Respectfully yours, _

_Gwendolyn Cousland_

Eamon sighed softly, looking over the letter that waited for him upon his desk. Isolde still lay asleep in their bed, unaware of her husband's quiet struggle. He had hoped that Gwendolyn and Alistair would develop under his terms, but he realized he had made a grave mistake if he had ever wanted that: he had chosen a Cousland to be his wife. He had never known a Cousland to work politically like any other noble, especially the women.

If Isolde were there, he knew she would caution him to listen to the woman, and perhaps she would be right. Alistair would be happier if he could find a place to rest his trust with this woman. In the end, did he not owe happiness to him? After everything he had put the boy through, did he not deserve to be happy?

The Arl was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of a soft knock at his door.

"Eamon?" It was Teagan.

"What is it?"

"The mage and the templar have arrived. The Knight-Captain wants to know if they are taking lodgings here or if they are to continue to the palace."

"Gwendolyn has taken Alistair out of the castle for a little play date. They will not be there to greet them this morning, but they will tonight."

"Is that so bad, though? They need to go have some fun." Teagan had always seen it that way. He had questioned Eamon's motives of forced conversation from time to time, and with Gwendolyn's growing interference, he showed signs of approval.

"I suppose you're right. They are going to have to get through this without someone leading them along."

* * *

They took their morning meal alone in that small little cottage, having been served by the proprietors. Gwendolyn did all of the talking to them, and when they were gone, held conversation with Alistair. He rather liked the arrangement and all the attention that his future wife was paying him.

They spent much of their morning talking about their experiences with the Chantry, those being Gwendolyn's seclusion and Alistair's Templar training. They talked about the Grey Wardens too, and Alistair was surprised with how easily it all came to him. He felt like they could actually connect far more than he had expected. Without Eamon forcing them to speak in the early morning and the late night after anything having to do with the government.

He wondered if he should return this kind gesture at a later date, and while waiting for his meal, decided he would do so during their honeymoon. That would be romantic, right? Wasn't what Gwendolyn doing a little romantic? With only a few days left before they became a wedded couple, his mind was racing to decide if he had made himself ready. Here they were, sitting in a small breakfast house and taking their meal together with no one else but a mabari. Would this continue to be in their future? Maker's Breath, did he hope so.

He looked across the table at Gwendolyn, listening to her as she told him all about how the sister's treated her when she was in hiding, and he could not help but think how pleasant and relaxing it was to get away and just talk. They talked at the palace every night, but he believed that just getting out of those halls really did make him feel better. She had been right.

After they finished eating, Gwendolyn took him with her as she wandered around the market place. He walked beside her as he watched her comb through all of the finery, their arms linked all the while. She never let him get too far, nor did he let her stray too far from him.

They talked about whatever came to mind. Past lovers. Childhood experiences. Mabari. What they would like in a child, should they ever have one. It felt all too perfect to both of them, yet they could not shake the feeling that it could not come a moment too soon. In less than four days, they would be standing before the Maker and vowing themselves to each other. Gwendolyn was far too religious to ever think about cheating behind her husband's back, and Alistair… well, Alistair had never believed in that kind of thing.

They spent the whole day like this, stopping their adventures only for meals and dancing, but when they returned to the palace, they were greeted by Eamon, Teagan, and the Templar and Mage. Gwendolyn would not get a chance to send the Arl another letter.

In the week that had passed since they first danced together, Alistair had spent more time with Gwendolyn on his own than he had when Eamon forced them to be around one another. He took his meals with her, continued to learn dancing with her, and had snuck out of the castle once or twice with her when no one was looking. It had all been a marvelous adventure, just as their day had been.

The Mage and the Templar were not so different from the King and his future bride. Next to each other, they just looked like a couple. A small human woman with short brown hair wore a loose fitting dress rather than a regulation mage's robe, and the Templar behind her sported short, curly red hair. He looked nervous and unsettled. Gwendolyn was surprised that the mage was more at ease than he was.

"So you are the mage Arl Eamon sent for then? And of course, Ser Cullen. I can't forget your face," Alistair nodded to them in greeting. The events at the Circle were all too fresh in his mind, Cullen's poor state of affairs included.

"Your Majesty, its good to see that the Maker smiled on you. This mage is Serena Amell, the healer that the Knight-Commander suggested," Cullen did not sound quite as nervous as he looked, which was to his advantage.

"I am honored to be at your service, Your Majesty, my lady." The mage bowed low, like it was all practiced. Surely, she wanted to look obedient.

"I am.. Not very sure when your services will be required, Lydia, but your presence is welcome nevertheless," Gwendolyn smiled at the mage, glancing at Alistair out of the corner of her eye.

Things had suddenly became very awkward.

"I trust that the two of you had a good time today?" Eamon questioned.

"Oh yes. It was so nice to get out of the castle and just spend the day together."

Alistair looked at Gwendolyn and then down at their entwined arms," I think it was the most relaxing day I've had in a very long, long time."

Teagan smiled approvingly at them while Eamon looked over them both as if appraising the situation. He was searching them both for anything that could be dismissed as a lie. He wanted to find a flaw in the Cousland's well laid plans.

Gwendolyn noticed the Arl's searching glances, and without pause, found a reason to dismiss herself. She would not play any more political games before her wedding, and when the time of celebration would pass, she would come out swinging. She would prove to Eamon that she was not faking her attentions to Alistair. She would prove herself to Ferelden, and she would do everything in her power to make things right.

"Excuse me everyone, but Alistair and I have had a very hard day. I'm quite worn out, and I have a long day ahead of me. Have you two been shown to where you will be staying?" Gwendolyn glanced at Cullen and Lydia.

"Ah, yes. Arl Eamon made arrangements for us since the two of you were gone when we arrived. Thank you for your kindness," the mage once more did all of the talking.

She glanced between them curiously before saying her good-byes. She did not linger with Alistair for fear that Eamon would find something to say about it. Cian followed after her slowly. The poor mabari was far more tired that she was. He didn't blame him. Cian had chased so many small animals while they roamed Denerim that she had lost count.

When she would awaken that morning, there would be no more time for Alistair. She would be busy making the final preparations for the wedding. There would be prayer, and dresses, and greetings, and making sure that everything was ready for the reception at the palace. There would be no end to it until she put on her bright red dress and walked up to the Altar in the Chantry and bound herself to Alistair and to Ferelden for the rest of her life.

She could not wait until she was safely in their honeymoon location, sipping away at some wine and relaxing after all of her hard work was over.

* * *

AN: I feel like this chapter was rushed, but I wanted to crank one out so that I could spend a longer amount of time working on the wedding chapter, which will be the next update!


	8. Holy Matrimony

Gwendolyn was stirred from slumber early on the morning of her wedding by several servants that had come to prepare her. She had no time to even awake, for the moment she was out of bed, she was fitted into her dress and sat down before her vanity to have her hair done. To her, there could be no ruder awakening.

She lost track of time as her head was pulled this way and that, her hair curled, her locks pinned atop her head. She let her hands lay flat upon her lap, feeling the luxurious silks underneath her palms. The embroidery was so fine that she could scarcely feel the patterns against her skin. When she looked at herself in the mirror, despite her growling stomach and rude awakening, she smiled. Gwendolyn Cousland would soon be married, and she would look like the Queen she would become.

Her brother arrived sometime into her preparations, carrying a small package in his hands. She could see him in the mirror. Fergus looked very handsome in his finest armor, his hair neatly falling near his eyes. He wore a proud smile upon his face, and the look in his eyes showed the first signs of happiness Gwendolyn had seen in him in a long time.

"You look beautiful, sister."

"Thank you, Fergus… What is that you have there?"

"Oh, remember when I told you I found something at the castle mother would have wanted you to have? This is it. I hope you can wear it with your dress," Fergus came forward, careful not to disturb the servant that worked on his sister's hair in silence. He sat the package on the vanity, urging Gwendolyn to open it.

The small case was easy to open and revealed a small pair of earrings. They were made of fine silver, embedded with little rubies. They were in the shape of the chantry sun, the silver around the rubies branched off into the rays.

"I remember these… Father got them on their anniversary when we were just kids. She cried when she opened them," Gwendolyn felt similar tears come to her eyes, but she fought them to the best of her abilities.

"I'll put them in for you when your hair is finished. Arl Eamon asked me to join you on the carriage ride to the Chantry."

"Is Alistair already gone?" Gwendolyn said.

"Yes, to the Arl's estate. I believe he is preparing there."

Gwendolyn would have nodded in response to her brother, but she feared a hair pull of retaliation from the woman behind her. She simply smiled in the mirror, where her brother responded in kind.

Her thoughts flowed out into her future, thinking of Alistair. She wondered how he would feel when he saw her. Would he be frightened, enthralled, stunned? She could only imagine the day that was ahead of her. Gwendolyn felt this alien sort of excitement swelling up in her as she continued to look at herself in the mirror. She wanted this more than anything.

Gwendolyn knew that she was doing a great service to Ferelden, but was she not doing a great service to Alistair? He needed her support. He thrived on it behind the scenes of every one of the Landsmeet gatherings since she had been in Denerim. She found herself happier in his presence than she ever was when alone, staring at a jar of ashes..

Roland Gilmore's ashes. They still sat upon a shelf near her bed, and she could see them reflecting in the mirror at her like a gruesome reminder. She looked upon their reflection, casting her gaze at the symbol of Andraste upon the vase. She wondered if coming here to Alistair, losing Roland, being forced to start over, any of it at all was the will of the Maker.

"Fergus, when my hair is finished, would you come with me to the garden before we leave?"

"Of course, sister."

* * *

In Arl Eamon's estate, Alistair sat in the guest room utterly alone. Teagan had thought it best to leave the poor man to his thoughts, for the king had been overcome by a terrible case of nevers. Alistair did not know how he should feel. He knew only that he feared the days ahead, but there was a large part of him that could not wait to see Gwendolyn approach him on her way to the Altar.

He missed his friends, most of which would be in attendance. Leliana had arrived the night before, along with Oghren. There was still no sign of Zevran, and Wynne had never left Denerim. All of Ferelden's nobility would be gathered in the Chantry for his wedding. The Grand Cleric would perform the ceremony, and the crowning of Gwendolyn would follow it before they left the Chantry.

He could not remember going to the Denerim Chantry at all; he had been crowned in the Landsmeet chamber in the palace. The entire day would be an experience he would never forget.

"Alistair? Are you decent?" Leliana called from behind the door.

He looked down at himself, at his royal armor. He supposed he was decent.

"Yes. Come on in, Leliana."

The door creaked open, and Alistair turned to look at his old friend. Leliana was wearing her old Chantry robes and her signature smile. She always seemed so happy.

"Don't you look handsome!.. And frightened. Is there something wrong?"

"I'm getting married, Leliana, to a woman I've only known for a month. Why do you think I'm scared?"

"I understand that," the sister began as she approached him," but she chose to marry you. Did you know that? She could have told Arl Eamon no."

"Really?"

"Well, I don't really know for sure, but she made the choice herself. She could have ran off with the Templar, when it was all said and done. She could have just gone back to Highever when Teagan found her, but she didn't. I believe she wanted this, being queen, being with you, helping Ferelden, and maybe even helping you."

Alistair thought quietly about what she said as Leliana sat down at one of the small couches. He wanted to believe her and everything she had said. He wanted to believe Gwendolyn had chosen this, chosen him.

"The Maker has a mysterious way of bringing people together and opening doors to peace when we can find none in ourselves. I think Lady Gwendolyn is the Maker's answer to your pain, Alistair, and you are the answer to hers."

Leliana smiled at him once more, but this time her words of encouragement rang true to him. He did not contemplate Linara's untimely demise as often as he once did. He no longer dreamed of the day she died, and part of him felt guilty. He did not deserve to live in sorrow. She would not have wanted that for him.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just afraid of failing her."

"You will never fail her. She will be bound to you, and as long as you support each other, you will never fail."

"Thank you, Leliana. I feel a lot better."

"I'm glad I could help."

* * *

The people of Denerim had already began to gather outside the Chantry as they waited for the arrival of their king and his future queen. There was excitement in the air as they let guests pass. Flags and banners decorated the walls and towers of the city, showing the great pride Denerim had in the impending marriage. The skies were bright blue and alive with the shining sun, a sign that the Maker smiled on the day Ferelden would have its new queen.

The nobles had began to make their way into the Chantry, and among them were many of Alistair's friends. Oghren had made sure he had a place in the front. He was a dwarf after all. How could he be expected to see past all of the humans? Two elves had been allowed into the main chamber of the Chantry, and Oghren swore that one of them looked familiar…

When Alistair arrived at the Chantry, he was greeted by the cheers of his people. It was in moments like these that he felt that all of the trouble in the Landsmeet was worth while. Alistair received a lot of praise from the people of Ferelden. They loved him, thought him personable and kind. These were the characteristics they had loved in his father and felt had been lost in Cailan. Maybe that had everything to do with his rising popularity.

Alistair could not help but smile at their welcome. Men and women alike greeted him with congratulations and thanks as he made his way through the crowd. He waved, spoke to those that were close to him as he drew nearer to the doors. They made him want to be king. Part of him wanted everything to do with giving them better lives, giving them hope. He knew he shared this wish with Gwendolyn, and it seemed that the people knew this too. They were awaiting her just as eagerly as they had awaited him.

Several rows of pews had been set up in preparation for the wedding that was about to take place inside of the Chantry. Many of those rows were already filled by nobles and honored guests, like Leliana and Oghren. The large statue of Andraste stood above the altar, where the Grand Cleric had already taken her seat.

"The ceremony will begin shortly after Gwendolyn arrives. I will come and get you from this room after she has gone into the other," Eamon urged him in, and Alistair closed the door behind himself.

Within ten minutes, Gwendolyn had arrived. As she stepped out of her carriage with her brother, all of those that had gathered cheered for her as well. To them, she looked like a Queen they had all missed. She appeared regal in her red gown, but in the tan of her face and the brown of her hair and eyes they saw a Fereldan woman. Gwendolyn Cousland was closer to Ferelden's common folk than their last queen, and that could be said with certainty. No matter her lineage, no matter her nobility, she _looked_ like a Fereldan. They saw themselves in her, and they rejoiced.

She felt overwhelmed. To see so many people there for her, for Alistair, was to be awakened to the truth of the matter. So much rode on their backs. These people looked to them for a future, for a place where their children would be healthy and happy. To be Alistair's Queen was to become a beacon of light amongst all of the darkness cast by the Blight. The responsibility was beyond what she had believed.

The Grand Cleric met Alistair as he approached the altar. He stood in his perspective place automatically, but his mind was elsewhere. He waited for the moment to come when Gwendolyn walked down the isle. For the last two nights, he dreamed of her coming to him toward him, smiling and happily devoting herself to him. He dreamed of bringing her into his arms, kissing her, and giving his future to her.

Eamon had come to him a moment before, telling him that Gwendolyn had arrived and that he should take his place. When he walked out into the chamber, he had been greeted by the loud cheers of those that had arrived for the ceremony and were fortunate enough to get a seat inside of the chantry.

And then the time came.

Alistair heard the large doors at the back of the chantry open, and everyone that had gathered there fell silent, turning to look at the bride and the brother that would give her away. The breath caught in Alistair's throat as he saw Gwendolyn coming toward him, arm wrapped in her brother's and a bouquet of Andraste's Graces in her hands.

He had never seen her hair curled before, but he found that he liked it very much. The way all of her hair had been pinned atop her head brought attention to angles of her face that he had never before considered. She glowed in the light that shone in through the windows, the perfect picture of Ferelden's queen. The golden embroidery on the red fabric glittered as a reminder of the rose patterns that decorated her wedding dress. From across the chamber, he had already been captured.

Fergus led his sister to her future, stopping her before she went to Alistair for the briefest of moments. He considered her in silence, saw the smile she gave him as assurance, and realized that this moment was her destiny. Gwendolyn Cousland would become Gwendolyn Theirin, Queen of Ferelden. He returned her smile and let her go, content and willing to see her off to her future.

Gwendolyn approached the altar, holding her flowers in her hands as she bowed first to Alistair and then to the Grand Cleric. She saw in his eyes the astonishment and admiration that plagued his thoughts, and her cheeks blushed beyond the artificial color that had been places there. For the moment, she would have to fight the emotions that overwhelmed her and make it through the ceremony without mistake.

"Children of the Maker, we are gathered here today to witness the union of our King Alistair to the Lady Gwendolyn Cousland, daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. In their Union here today lies the future of Ferelden, may the Maker bless them. Lady Cousland, please step forward," The Grand Cleric began.

Gwendolyn moved toward the Grand Cleric, whom at this moment stood behind the altar. As practiced, Gwendolyn stood to the right side of it, where a small fire had been kindled in a bowl. It was for the Andraste's Graces.

"Repeat after me, my Lady.."

_With these flowers I do bestow my first vows. May their smoke carry my promises to the heavens, so that the Maker may here me. I do give myself fully to Alistair Theirin, to have and to hold. I will guide him and care for him in the darkness, and I will show him the light. Where he may falter, I shall be strong. Where I may weaken, he shall be my strength. _

As she repeated the Grand Cleric, Gwendolyn lowered the Andraste's graces individually into the smoke, hearing them crackle as the smell went up into the air, carrying with it a message of her devotion.

"Your majesty, please come forward."

Alistair swallowed down the lump that grew in his throat as Gwendolyn gave her first vows, and he forced himself to move to the exact spot he remembered from the practices. This was harder than it was before. Finding the right time to move and the right things to say felt difficult amongst all the emotions and thoughts flying around in his head.

"Take these herbs, and place them into the fire. Repeat after me.."

_Wthis this offering, I do bestow my first vows. May their smoke carry my promises to the heavens, so that the Maker may here me. I do give myself fully to Gwendolyn Cousland, to have and to hold. I shall cherish her and adore her in health, and I will carry her through the storm. Where she may be weak, there will I be strong. Where I may fall, I will always remember her._

Alistair and Gwendolyn looked at each other across the altar, lost in the sight of one another. Their futures depended on this moment. The whole of the Kingdom would hear tales of this day for years to come, telling of how they came together and said their final vows..

Arl Eamon was called upon to bring forth the rings that would bind them, a golden band for Alistair and a silver one for Gwendolyn. He settled them upon the altar and departed, allowing the two to step to the front of the altar again as the Grand Cleric spoke.

"Your majesty, please give your ring to the Lady, and repeat after me once more."

Alistair reached for the small silver band, holding it delicately between his thumb and index finger, carefully sliding it onto Gwendolyn's left ring finger as he made his final vows. He could not help but look at the ring that accompanied it, finding a sense of comfort in the sight of it.

_With this ring, I thee wed. May it serve as a symbol of my loyalty unto you. Never shall I betray the promise I have made, nor shall I ever stray from your guiding light._

The Grand Cleric then directed Gwendolyn to give Alistair the ring that had been fashioned for him, repeating the same vows, and they were all thankful that the ring fit onto his hand. For just this occasion, he had not worn the gauntlets that went with his armor. He almost had, if not for the attendant that had reminded him. It seemed that the Maker helped him out in small ways.

A young sister of the Chantry stepped forward from her place behind the altar, carrying in her hands the crown of Ferelden's Queen. The Grand Cleric took it into her hands, moving toward the Lady Gwendolyn, whom turned to face her. Alistair stepped up behind Gwendolyn, placing his hand on her shoulder. He did this not only as a sign of support, but perhaps to remind himself that the moment was indeed real.

"Gwendolyn Cousland, The Maker has called upon you to wed the King of Ferelden and guide him through the shadow cast over our land by the Blight. The task is hard and the burden heavy, but you have made your vows and sworn fealty to this man. It is not too late to turn back. Do you accept the crown of Ferelden? Do you accept your husband?"

"I do, Grand Cleric," Gwendolyn said, gathering her dress in her hands and she kneeled.

Ferelden's Grand Cleric placed the crown atop Gwendolyn's already vastly adorned head, and she smiled down at her.

"Then rise, Gwendolyn Theirin, Queen of Ferelden. Kiss your husband, and be one with him. May Andraste guide you."

Gwendolyn stood and turned toward Alistair, whose hand slid from her shoulder and to her waist. They looked at each other for a moment, silently agreeing that this is what they had wanted. He lured her in, kissing her so softly that only the heat of her lips alerted him to the touch. For the moment, he wanted to feel and notice the smallest things like the curvature of her hip, the smell of her hair, the softness of her cheek beneath his hand.

Alistair realized then that this could work. He could love her and thought he might already be well on his way. With time, he could safely call her his love. Gwendolyn was now his Queen, his wife, bound to him in the eyes of the Maker and before a grand assembly. The future had finally came to them.

Gwendolyn gladly kissed him, and she too found delight in the softness of the touch. It lightened the weight that had grown and grown upon her shoulders and her chest, freeing her from the fear that the day might go wrong. They had survived the ceremony, appeased those that had wanted this from them, but they both knew that they wanted this too. It was better to marry and rule with someone you liked than to be stuck with someone you despised.

As they kissed, those gathered in the chamber began to clap and cheer. The celebration carried out into the streets, filling Denerim with the noise of pride and joy. It would carry still further for miles, swelling Ferelden's proud nature and giving its people hope. Gwendolyn and Alistair had already helped their country, but the day had only just begun. The Maker had still more plans for their wedding day.

* * *

_Uhh! I feel so bad for taking so long to write this. I was so worried about making the wedding scene right that I just let it sit, but I cranked out the majority of it just now. I still feel like something is lacking, and I think the scene isn't what it could be. However, I'm glad that I got it finished. I would hate to leave ANOTHER story hanging._


	9. The Red Queen

Alistair and Gwendolyn were greeted on the streets with a thunderous roar of applause. Denerim's population had gathered outside its Chantry to greet its new Queen, tossing Andraste's Graces into the air before her in a sign of acceptance and love. The people showed these signs to both of them, calling out their names and blessing them as they passed.

Alistair felt his pride swell beneath his chest as he intertwined his arm with Gwendolyn's and waved to his people. He had done something right for them. Before he had met Gwendolyn, being a successful king had always intimidated him. With her at his side, being that felt far more likely. She was beautiful, well liked by the people, and wise and in tune with Ferelden's politics in a way that he would never be. He was personable, had a fine sense of humor which seemed to please Ferelden's general populous, but he had no idea how to run a country. Gwendolyn completed him, and together, they had what it took to renew Ferelden from the ash of the Blight.

Together, they retreated to the carriage that awaited them. Alistair helped Gwendolyn in, following her into its recesses immediately. The cheers continued as he pulled the door closed behind him and sat down next to her, taking her left hand into his right. He looked at the rings that bound her to him, made of silvers that perfectly matched one another. He could not help but smile as she spoke.

"We made it."

"Yeah. We did."

"Now comes the hard part. I have to face the Landsmeet before any more of the festivities occur."

"Do you know what you're going to say to them?" Alistair squeezed her hand, a sign of concern.

"I do. I think that it won't take too long, and I'll receive their support so all of this Queen business is official."

Gwendolyn leaned her head against his shoulder, the cold metal of his armor felt nice against her temples. The roar of the crowd dulled as the carriage began to move forward, and together they decided they would have a moment of silence before the rest of their day began. They took the moment as a means of bonding, sitting in the silence together and becoming aware of what the presence of the other truly felt like. Alistair felt a great calm move over him, which he knew came from the strength his new wife always seemed to have. She found in him a different kind of strength, one that showed in his treatment of people. Gwendolyn adored him for his kindness, something she often lacked. He may have a witty sense of humor, but he thought of the betterment of people. He only wanted the best for Ferelden.

When they arrived at the palace, they would have several minutes before all of the nobles would be in attendance. Outside of the main doors, Leland awaited them. He had not seen Gwendolyn that day, and part of him feared to. He had always thought her beautiful, far more so when she became the forbidden fruit. He took charge of the palace security during the wedding because he feared how he would feel, watching her go to Alistair and bind herself to him before the Maker. He held his breath as he watched his king exit his carriage and aid his new bride, Leland's Gwendolyn, out of it.

And Maker's Breath, was she beautiful. She literally glowed in the sunlight, adorned with jewels in hair, around her neck, upon her finger, and even embroidered into her gown. Red always suited her, and the deep royal crimson brought out her beauty in a way he had never seen before. When she looked at him, he saw something in her eyes that made his chest ache: happiness. He could never make her that happy, and he knew it. In just a month, she had sprouted wings and flown away from him. Gwendolyn Cousland, now Theirin, had never been within his reach, but there had been hope. Now, that no longer existed. He had chased her, and for what? To continue fighting for her? No. That had never been the case. Leland Ramsey wanted to protect her, and it was for that that he followed her.

Alistair and Gwendolyn approached him, and he shook his thoughts away quickly," Your Majesties, preparations for the evening are in full swing. The Landsmeet chamber is prepared for the arrival of the nobles, and the meal should be ready after court is adjourned."

"Thank you, Ser Ramsey. There is a place for you at the feast, and once the nobles have arrived you're relieved from duty," Alistair lead Gwendolyn passed.

"I hope to see you there, Leland," Gwendolyn spoke in passing.

The knight wondered if she even realized the conflict she put him in.

* * *

"I'd like to get out of this armor before everyone gets here.. I mean, I don't _really_ need to wear it all day. Could you, uh, help me out?" Alistair spoke.

He and Gwendolyn had quickly retreated to the room that they would be sharing by the end of the night. Several of her things had already moved in, like her vanity and Cian. The Mabari made good time of calling the room home, having found a spot next to the fireplace that he liked the most. Alistair and his new bride found the dog's behavior laughable.

"Sure."

Gwendolyn knew her way around a suit of armor. Alistair could tell from the moment she stepped up to him and found the straps fastening it all together. Her fingers worked through the loops delicately, and focus fell across her face as she did so. Her husband watched her, looked into her eyes and followed the curvature of her jaw line. The curls in her hair had yet to fall, and she was still as beautiful as when she bound herself to him.

Alistair closed his eyes as each piece of his armor fell away until he was left in the fine linen shirt and leggings he had worn beneath it. Together, they put his armor upon the stand set for him in the far corner of the room. As Gwendolyn placed the left shoulder pad upon the stand, joining it with the rest of the set, Alistair took her hand. She turned her gaze to him and met his brown eyes in silence.

"Come here," Alistair said softly, using his hold upon her hand to tug her close. His bride came to him willingly.

His free hand gently cupped her cheek, and he used this leverage to lead her into a kiss. Their lips met, and this time, it felt far more natural and real. To him, it was like the first time he had ever kissed her, starting out so soft and innocent but evolving into a passionate, feverish dance of lips and tongues. Her soft hands came up to his cheeks and held his face there before her, as if she did not want him to move away. He flatly refused the notion, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her waist.

They stayed like that together for a long moment, enjoying the simplicity of their lips pressed against one another, the warmth between them. The silence enveloped them and aided them in their brief escape from the world that they would face shortly, and that was all they wanted.

* * *

"Noblemen of Ferelden, may I present to you King Alistair Theirin and our new Queen, Gwendolyn Theirin."

Gwendolyn's heart pounded heavy in her chest as she sat down for the first time in her thrown, looking out to the Banns and Arls and Teryn and Teryna. She felt their eyes on her, but this time, she felt no fear. She felt their admiration and respect, and the swell of pride in her chest alleviated the pressure of her heavily beating heart. Their cheers confirmed their recognition of her, and she smiled. With Alistair's hand in her own, she believed in herself.

"Silence," Arl Eamon called," It is time for her to make her first address."

Alistair firmly squeezed her hand, attempting to reassure her as she stood. He gave her this look that told her he knew what she was feeling, that he believed her nervous. In part, he was right. But she felt capable.

"Ferelden is a country ripe with diversity. I look around me today, and I see a group of people with different banners, different ways of dress, different customs, but when I look at you, I see Fereldans past all of this. We are unified by the ground we stand on, by the earth that nourishes us and by the blood that has carried us through invasions by Orlais and the Darkspawn, and as Fereldans, we still stand. But the battle is not over yet."

"Every part of Ferelden is encouraged by the other, and none of us are in division of the other. We need our neighbors, our friends, to survive the final part of this Blight. We are not finished until we can feed our people, until we can insure their safety. Each of you is irreplaceable, incredible in your own ways. Your warriors, your farmers, your children are all vital parts of what makes us great."

"It is time for us to strengthen our arms in both our farmers and our warriors. There are many mouths to feed. There are many who need protection. The Archdemon is slain but the darkspawn are not yet cleansed from our lands. The Grey Wardens are coming from all over to help us fight them, but until they arrive, it is our duty to protect our people. I believe that it is within our reach to do these things, and with my bow and my sword, I will join my husband in protecting my people when he leaves to campaign in the Bannorn."

At this, there was a hushed sense of surprise. Had all of these nobles forgotten that the proud Cousland daughter was a warrior? She could not help but grin and continue.

"No one is free of this conflict, but out of this fighting, we will find unity after the tumultuous year that has passed us by. Never will I forget how far all of you went to pick this country up. When one of us hurts, the whole is sick.. When one of our Bannorns, our Arlings, are low on food and supplies, we will all feel its effects.."

"When one of us mourns, we all mourn with you. I…. I know my husband's personal feelings considering the death of Loghain Mac Tir. I am in the belief that what transpired in Ostagar was horrible, but I also believe that his death is a sad one. A wise man once told me that you either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. This was the fate of Loghain Mac Tir, and like his daughter, I prefer to remember him as the hero…"

She exchanged glances with Alistair, and a silent exchange was made. He saw apology in her eyes, knew that she did not mean to hurt his feelings on the matter. Strangely, he did not feel quite as upset as he had been when Linara had almost shown him mercy. He sat back in his thrown and watched her, listened carefully to everything she said. He did not want to give the air of trying to control her. It would not bode well for anyone.

"As your Queen, I want it to be remembered that I stand for all of us. I will rule beside my husband justly, and openly, considering every angle and every option… but I will urge his immediate action when it is called for. Let it not be said that I did not stand her before you today and share my deepest feelings with you. Let it be known that Ferelden is in my blood. I have sewn my roots here from the moment I was born, and here they shall stay and here shall they support. I will always be a humble and faithful servant to this country."

She bowed deeply, and at first, there was silence. Awe filled the air, and this overwhelming aura of appreciated soared high as the silence was broken by the clapping of Anora Mac Tir, who sat under the banner of Gwaren. She was joined by Fergus, and then by Teagan, and slowly the crescendo came with the cheering of all the nobles. They had understood. They had felt her concern, her encouragement, and they had believed.

Gwendolyn retreated to her seat with Alistair and once more took his hand. She looked at him again and leaned toward him, whispering.

"Did I do alright?.."

"I don't think I'm the one you should be asking, Gwen," he responded with a throaty chuckle.

Together, they smiled. Together, the received the acceptance of their country.

* * *

_This marks the part of the wedding. I am ready to move the story beyond this, and should I cover their reception, it will likely be in some kind of interlude. I want to start sewing all kinds of political intrigue and goodness into the storyline, and this is the best place for it to begin. Thank you for reading, and as always, any feedback is highly appreciated._


	10. A Desperate Attempt

_Smutty chapter ahead! You won't miss much if this isn't your kind of thing. The next chapter will start off Gwendolyn's rule beside Alistair. It'll be a grand time._

* * *

Gwendolyn had slept beside Alistair for weeks now. She had known his comforting, strong embrace in the dead of night. She had kept him company when he could not sleep, and yet in the final stretch of their honeymoon, found that he had not summoned up the bravery to lay with her. The tension was high, and she did not want to return to Denerim only to face Arl Eamon and severely disappoint him. She already felt the pressure for an heir, and it left her uncomfortable.

They had spent several nights in their wedding bed, cuddling and talking and kissing, but never once did Alistair's hands leave their chaste place at her back. He never showed signs of interest in coupling with her, and there were times when this had deeply troubled her. Despite her desires to take this at his pace, to show him that she could be a good woman and a good wife, she felt the call of her duty calling for a child in her womb.

As she waited for him to come to bed, her eyes fell upon a small gathering of vials left for her by Serena Amell, the mage assigned to help her concieve. Not one of the had been opened, yet alone drank from. With a heavy sigh, she rose up from her bed, bound and determined to begin the process. She cracked open one of the vials, tasting for the first time a sour, and hopefully life giving, potion meant to steel her body against the corruption that had spread throughout Alistair.

She prayed to the Maker that the foul tasting concoction would indeed safeguard her womb from the corruption in her husband's body. When it would enter her, she hoped that the potion would aid the acceptance of Alistair's seed when the time came to conceive. She meant for that time to be that night, but all of her prayers could not guarantee her a night spent in blissful ecstasy with her strapping new husband.

She covered up the taste by chewing on a mint leaf, and she laid herself in bed completely naked. This way, Alistair would have no time to take notice of her bare body, and like every night before, would snuggle up to her and put his arm around her. This time his hands would not find the silky cloth of her nightgown, but the velvet feeling of her flesh. She waited for this moment, a bubble of anticipation brewing up in her stomach.

Alistair returned from his bath, shirtless and sleepy from the heat of the water. His mind had busily played with the thought of his future with Gwendolyn. The days spent in their small honeymoon cottage on Lake Calenhad had been enjoyable, if not outright pleasing. She had taught him more dances and shared meals with him, kissed him and talked to him about anything and everything. These qualities had long ago drawn him into her, and he appreciated them the more he saw them in work.

He entered their bedroom with towel in hand, drying his hair as he sat on the edge of the bed. Gwendolyn made no sound as he did so, and he turned around to look at her. Her shoulders were bare, her back toward him. He felt something rise up in his throat, a case of the nerves creeping up on him.

"Gwen… Are you asleep?.."

She did not respond.

He crawled in next to her, careful not to disturb the woman he had believed to be asleep. As he moved in to cuddle her as always, his hands found her bare flesh and a blush came to his face. He felt her move underneath his hand, rolling to face him. The soft skin of her belly passed beneath his fingers, and he found his hand upon the small of her back. She curled closer to him, and he realized that she was naked.

"Gwen, I.. uh…"

She did not speak, only kissed him, and his response was stiff and hesitant.

Even so, Alistair's hand did not leave the small of her back. He had always liked the feeling of her skin, and he found this far more personal touch hard to resist or ignore. His body reacted to her when his mind had frozen, and he felt a gentle heat ebbing at him, calling him to his more primal desires. The feeling of Gwendolyn's bare chest against his own left an untouched hunger aching in his gut. He lusted for her at the basest of levels, but so much of him was unsure of himself, unsure of his readiness. He did not know if he could yet handle being with another woman, even if his body had grown restless and needy.

Gwendolyn continued to press her luck, kissing him softly and trying to entice him in this simple way. He had begun to return the gestures, careful of himself as he pulled her close. She took this as a sign of acceptance, and she basked in the feeling of his toned body so near her own. She missed the feeling of a man's skin against her own, with hands firmly grasping at her back.

She did not think of Rory as Alistair fell victim to his lust. Alistair did not think of Linara as Gwendolyn offered herself to him. They had come to the bridge they knew they must cross, and at first, they hesitated. Together, they had taken off in a sprint, more and more willing to join together as they became more familiar with the other's body.

She could feel his hands exploring every curve on her body from the toned muscle of her thighs to the roundness of her rear. His fingers danced gently across her sides, feeling their way to her breasts, which he took a moment to admire before cupping them in his palms. Gwendolyn responded with a gentle sigh, a sign to him that she liked his touch. He responded in kind by rubbing his thumb against her nipple, a delight growing inside of him at knowing he made her feel this way. The hunger that had bubbled inside of him was slowly rising even as he fed it.

Still, she remained careful with him. Each touch was deliberate, each teasing flick of her tongue precise. She would not stray from his mouth for too long, leaving small trails along his collar bone and his neck and returning for a delightful play of tongues. Her hands trailed their way down his chest as she pulled herself away from him just enough to let her hands pass between them. Her right hand found his hard desire, which had earlier been pressing against her leg. Her fingers touched it gently, earning a grunt from him for her efforts.

Alistair rolled over her, pushing her onto her back as he did so. Either knee at her sides, he looked down at her and leaned in toward her, leaving only inches between their faces. Gwendolyn's hands remained where they were, and she remained acutely aware of their situation. She did not want to forget why she had initiated this.

"Is this.. Really what you want, Gwen?" His brown eyes stared into hers, seeking confirmation.

"It is. I feel like I'm ready for this.. So much is riding on our relationship… our relations, Alistair. I do not want to be looked at like Anora. I want to give you a child, a family, love.. I'm not here to be Queen. I didn't marry you to be Queen. I wanted a second chance at being happy, and I thought I could find it with you, by helping you.."

He blinked at her as her hands left their more intimate placing and moved to grasp at his back, a tight hug forming in this touch. This no longer felt like lust to him. The look in her eyes was one of adoration, of hope and belief. They glimmered with a well of tears, which he only assumed were of her own realizations. He could not move himself to think he had caused this, and he closed the distance between them with a brief kiss.

"Thank you, Gwen.. I wouldn't be able to do this without you.."

Once more, their lips met in a flurry of kisses whose very nature had changed from what it was just moments ago. There was love there, desire of a different kind. Their lust had changed from a basic instinct for coupling to a need to join together, to move as one and experience the making of love.

As he kissed her, Alistair released himself from the binds of his smallclothes. A sigh of relief escaped him, being freed of the binding that had caused him to ache since Gwendolyn began her advance on him. Gwendolyn's legs moved from between his own and spread wide. In the glimmering light of a nearby candle, he could see her, wet with desire. He made the decision to move in, but as he did so, Gwendolyn used all of her strength to roll him and sit upon his hips. She sat up and parted her lips from his own, a wide grin forming on her face. Clearly, she had her own plans for the night.

Her hands reached down, wrapping his throbbing manhood in her fingers to guide him to her opening. He instinctively bucked into her touch, a small groan coming from the back of his throat. It had been so long since he had been touched like that, and Maker's Breath, did he miss it.

Alistair's hands moved to grasp at her hips as he felt himself pressing at her opening. As her warmth enveloped him, they both let out a deep moan. She felt like velvet around him, wound so tightly that he thought he might lose himself far too soon for either of their liking. She began to ride him slowly, making herself used to his size. Her hands rested on his chest now, and her eyes never lost his own.

Even when she sat straight up on top of him, bouncing with his aid and taking him into her at a steady pace, their gaze did not break. They moaned together, felt a searing hot pleasure coursing down their spines and cumulating inside of them, building as Alistair began to lift her up and pull her down faster than she had intended.

"Ugh, Alistair!…" As she said his name, it almost came off in a sense of surprise. It did not remain this way, and she continued to murmur his name.

Alistair neared his own climax, but he refused to let it end just yet. He rolled once more, pushing Gwendolyn onto her back. She yelped at the change, feeling him burrowed into her as far as he could go. He was so close to her now, his face so near her own as he pressed into her at a more gentle pace. He left gentle kisses along her shoulder, trailing till he found her lips. His tongue hungered to taste her own as he began to pump himself into her, harder and faster as he decided that this was how he wanted to reach his peak with her.

They moaned together, never once breaking their lip lock. Breath was a precious commodity to them both as Gwendolyn wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together just above his backside. He could feel her tightening around him, reaching her own climax. He wanted to feel this. He wanted to find ecstasy with her in one perfect union. He hoped for it.

Her moans became more desperate and loud as she came to her climax, and she had to break away from their kiss as her eyes closed and she whimpered his name, enjoying the moment in its simplicities. Alistair felt her body tighten around him at its highest potential, and he found his highest pleasures with her, gasping and groaning between each soft call of her name.

He continued to buck into her softly, releasing his seed deep inside of her and riding out the wave of pleasure that slowly ebbed from him. Not only had the sick tension in his back gone from him, but he felt warm, loved, and needed. Gwendolyn's legs were slack around his waist, but they remained there. Her arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders, and her lips kissed his cheeks with adoration and love. He had found his place again. He knew where he belonged: in her arms, with Gwendolyn, his wife and his Queen.


	11. Home Again

Denerim prepared for the return of their monarchs with banners and rebuilt shops and houses. Even in the month and a half that Alistair and Gwendolyn had been gone, Ferelden had found hope in their union and worked tirelessly to drag themselves out of the darkness the Blight cast over the land. As they rode together on their return to Denerim, farmers and noblemen alike lined the streets to see them pass, and in seeing them, found their own happiness and hope.

To the people of Ferelden, the image of Alistair and Gwendolyn riding together on the back of a well-bred stallion was the picture of Ferelden's new and happy monarchy. They saw in them what they could not see in Cailan and Anora, and that was genuine affection from both parties. Both of them were gracious, took their time on their return to Denerim to stop and talk to anyone who asked for them, spending a day or two in every village in an attempt to let their people know they cared. Ferelden's monarchy stood beside them, and in that, the survivors of the Blight found hope.

Linara's enormous fortune she left behind went to her chosen cause, feeding and supplying Ferelden's people. Little by little, it would be depleted, but in the end, Ferelden would know that their Hero saved them in numerous ways, giving her life and her coin for them. With Alistair and Gwendolyn away, Eamon did his best to oversee the expenditure of the coin. When Alistair returned, the Arl knew he would tend to it in his final respects to his former lover.

Still, there were parties in and out of Ferelden that were not so happy with the unity of Alistair and Gwendolyn. Leland could feel the keen sting of jealousy and desire more than he had ever before at the thought of the woman he wanted in bed with his King, laughing and talking with him like old friends, close lovers. Their chemistry sickened him, sickened Anora, and made many of the nobles outside of Ferelden wary. To everyone but Leland and Anora, their unity meant strength for Ferelden. To them, Alistair and Gwendolyn's unity was a sign of happiness, happiness that the Knight and the Teyrna could never have.

The sight of them tasted bitter to the Knight as Alistair rode nearer the castle with Gwendolyn, Cian trotting beside the stallion in a well-practiced and established behavior. It appeared that Gwendolyn had fallen asleep through the very early morning ride into Denerim to avoid crowded streets, and Alistair appeared to have learned to hold her up and steer the horse all at once. Her head leaned back against his shoulder, padded by his riding leathers. Her eyes were shielded from the early morning sun by the hood of her cloak, and as they neared the gates, Alistair wiggling to wake her up.

"Gwen, we're back. We're home."

Seeing Gwendolyn asleep in the arms of his king alerted him as to why they had been expected so early. All of the travel must have tired her, and although Gwendolyn was by no means a fragile woman, it had taken its toll on her. She was not accustomed to such lengthy travel. Alistair had gladly awakened early that morning to finish their trek to Denerim and bring her home.

It felt strange to call Denerim home, but with Gwendolyn, the strange gave way to a sense of right. He felt her head slide across his collar bone as she raised her head, the hood of her cloak falling away and revealing her teased hair, all knots and frizz from rubbing against him. He smiled as she reached up, sleepily brushing it down with her hands. She seemed unaware of where they were yet, but she was awake.

"Welcome home, your Majesties. Arl Eamon has seen to it that your chambers have been well kept. The new Warden Commander arrived yesterday eve, and she has taken refuge with Teryna Mac Tir. We can send for her when you are settled in again," Leland said.

He stepped forward to grab the reins of the horse Alistair and Gwendolyn had rode into Denerim in order to steady the beast as they both dismounted. Gwendolyn stepped off first, looking all around them as she became aware of her surroundings. The Knight lost interest in them together as his eyes fell upon the Queen, for the moment standing alone. He had missed her, missed her so much it sickened him. She didn't speak a word to him, too tired or too engrossed in Alistair's nearness to care.

"Thank you, Ser Ramsey. Perhaps we'll call on her to join us for dinner this evening. It's been a long few days, and I think Gwendolyn would like to go back to sleep."

Alistair grinned widely at his bride as he joined her, and his grin prompted a chuckle from her.

"Mmm.. Maybe. It would be nice to sleep in my own bed again."

They moved away and into the castle in silence now, Gwendolyn wrapped up in Alistair's arm as they found their way to their shared chambers. Cian trotted along with them, just as eager to be home. He ran ahead of them, snaking his way into the cracked door of their chambers and jumping onto the hearth of the fireplace. There the mabari settled, and just like him, Gwendolyn eagerly made her way to her bed.

She tossed herself onto the bed, reaching for a pillow and pulling it to her. Alistair did not join her so quickly. He stood near the door for a time, taking in the sight of her still wrapped in her cloak, lying upon their bed with her hair tossed all around her like a brunette halo. He removed his own cloak and his boots before joining her, lying himself down upon the other side of the bed. He scooted closer to her and pulled her into an embrace, letting out a deep sigh as his eyes fixated upon the wall behind her.

"It's good to be back."

"Mmmm.. It is, isn't it? I want to stay in bed with you every night, Alistair. You're always so warm and comfortable.."

He smiled at the thought," You're welcome to it, Gwen."

She said no more and fell asleep in his arms, eager to sleep away the fatigue of their travels. They had the morning to rest up before beginning their royal duties, starting first with the Warden Commander. He did not know what to expect from this person, but he hoped that the meeting would be agreeable. They had jumped out of their honeymoon and back into the frying pan. Their only reprieve from their royal duties would be in that room where they fell asleep together.

They were awakened from their short nap by Arl Eamon's gentle knock upon the door. It was Alistair who first sat up, Gwendolyn awakened by the shifting weight upon the bed.

"Yes?" Alistair called out.

"I heard that you two arrived this morning. May I come in? There is much to discuss before the Warden Commander arrives."

At once, Gwendolyn and Alistair let out a frustrated groan and rolled out of bed. It seemed their weeks alone together had earned them some kind of syncing patterns of behavior, and at this point that had learned to move passed it without laughing at one another. As Alistair moved toward the door, Gwendolyn went toward the nearby armoire to fix her hair.

Alistair opened the door and allowed the Arl in. Eamon seemed tired and worn out, as if the month or so the royal pair had been gone took a toll on him. He moved past Alistair after nodding to him in greeting and took a seat in one of the chairs near the fireplace. Cian briefly opened his eyes to look up at the Arl, disregarding him after the mabari was sure that the man meant no ill will.

Alistair sat with the Arl, and Gwendolyn remained displaced from them. She would listen, but she would not join in unless her input was called for.

"The Wardens in Val Royeaux sent a Fereldan Grey Warden who had been sent away during the Blight. Her name is Emeline Thorne, and served as a Bann before the corruption of the Darkspawn almost claimed her life. She has experience with rule, which will help when she takes over the Arling in Amaranthine for the Grey Wardens. As Anora told me, Emeline was a close friend of Teyrn Loghain before she became a Warden and remained in correspondence with him even when she left Ferelden."

"Must have been some interesting letters filled with accusations and anger. 'Why'd you let the Wardens die, Loghain?'" Alistair noted.

"If you're concerned with their correspondence, I believe Lady Anora has kept most of her father's personal belongings."

"If she'll let us see them, it may be a good idea to learn more about this Emeline," Gwendolyn chimed in, her interested piqued.

"Indeed," Eamon said," I remember her from the Landsmeets. She was very well-spoken and voiced her concerns regularly. She was well respected in her time, even though she was not married and had no heirs to her Bannorn."

"I.. I think I met her once or twice. The name sounds familiar," Alistair said.

"It is likely. She has been a Warden for some time, and will likely name a successor to leave on her Calling shortly after establishing a new Grey Warden presence. When she arrived, she seemed ill."

* * *

The Warden Emeline had indeed been ill upon her arrival to Denerim, but it had not been brought on by the corruption in her veins. Despite the time that had passed, rumors of Loghain's deeds still circulated through the city like a pestilence, a pestilence that had affected her to the point of nausea. She had parted from Arl Eamon and left with the Lady Anora so quickly that she scarcely remembered the encounter. She spent the morning in Loghain's former chambers with Anora, sifting through the personal things gathered over many years of life in Denerim.

Underneath Loghain's bed, Emeline had found a chest full of their correspondence over the many years they had spoken to one another. Buried in the nearly hundreds of folded letters were small tokens Emeline had given him on his birthdays, a golden crest of Gwaren's symbol here, a small, lyrium encrusted dagger there. She regarded each of these things in silence as Anora busied herself with some of her father's other things, folding away his collection of ancient maps like they were holy relics.

_Loghain,_

_Shortly after receiving your letter from Ostagar, I heard that something terrible had happened there. Are you alright? I heard that all of Ferelden's Grey Warden perished in the battle, along with Cailan. It is a terrible loss, and should this letter reach you, could you give Anora my sympathies? It must be difficult for her without him. They always seemed so close._

_They are sending another Warden to investigate what happened, and I wish they had chosen me to do it. Riordan is a good man, and I trust his judgment, but I want to go home. Val Royeaux smells so strange, and it's hard to sleep here. _

_They're saying that it's your fault that everyone died, but I don't believe that for a minute. You're a good man, Loghain. I know that. I hope that Riordan doesn't come to the same conclusions as everyone who has come into the city since the battle at Ostagar. _

_With love,_

_Emeline_

Emeline had started a little pile of letters at her side as she sifted through the chest she had discovered. She tried not to cry with Anora so nearby. Knowing what she knew now, the blind innocence of many of her letters made her sad and sick to her stomach. She couldn't bring herself to read a single letter more following the last, and she rested her head in her hands as she considered the rest of her day.

Fiona would meet her soon, and together the two Wardens would go to the palace. Fiona did not want to stay with Anora and sought refuge elsewhere. The only reason Emeline agreed to stay was because Anora seemed so adamant, and they had spent the night telling stories of the man who had passed on just months ago. It was a moment of bonding for the two women who shared their grief for a man made of Dragon Bone, unbreakable until the very end.

* * *

_Finally, an update! With this update, I thought I'd let everyone know that I'm going to go back and edit the previous chapters extensively. I noticed a lot of little mistakes as I read through it, and there are some places I want to elaborate on._

_Thank you for all of your kind and generous reviews and alerts. Every one of them makes me smile._


	12. The Warden Reverent

"_If there is one thing I need you to know, Loghain, it is that no matter what I will always be a Fereldan at heart. Just because I wear the Grey Warden crest is not reason for anyone to call me a traitor. You were the one that caught me when the taint nearly took my life, and it was Duncan that saved me. If this is the price I have to pay to live a little bit longer, to see what Ferelden will become, then I will gladly do it. This is my place. These are my men, but when Ferelden calls, you can count on me to answer."_

And when Ferelden called the Wardens to Ostagar, Emeline Thorne had been one of the first to stand on that hallowed ground. After the Blight ended, she was called again and in haste she answered. Being all that was left aside from King Alistair, it was now her duty to rebuild Fereldan's Grey Wardens.

She stared into her mirror, preparing herself for the day that lay ahead of her. She made notice of her short white hair that Duncan always told her began to remind him of a commander he used to have. It had been longer before, but out of some long held tradition she inherited from her mother when loved ones passed on, Emeline saw fit to reduce her once regal long hair to nothing more than a pixie cut. She could see the signs of her age in the lines in her face, creases made by years of laughter and joy and happiness.

She told herself that she had led a life she would never regret. Twenty years had passed since she became a Warden—the current Teyrna of Gwaren had only been ten years old when she watched the Lady Emeline collapse outside of Denerim's palace, having hid her illness for days. The Maker only knew how she had survived the taint for so long and hidden it so well, but luck had been in her favor when Duncan stepped forward and offered to make her a Warden. She did not hesitate no matter the protests of the man who had caught her, and here she stood now, outliving him even with the taint in her blood.

It helped that she had been many years his junior, only nine years older than his own daughter. She had been old enough to watch the rebellion and grew up hearing stories of his greatness, watched her father go off to battle with King Maric and his loyal Commander, the commoner who would become a Teyrn. Even seeing her as wretched looking as the taint had made her, she could not believe it had been so long since she was a little girl.

A little powder hid the imperfections that made her insecure, and after finding a way to put her armor on alone, Emeline walked out of the room Anora had readied for her some days ago. She was ready to meet the new king, the son Fiona would never acknowledge. She wondered if he looked like her at all, Maric's human blood so powerful that it would wash a child clean of any elven traits. She was eager to see how he would react to her, for she knew Arl Eamon well enough he would fill the man's ear with lies and rumor mongering.

* * *

She had once hoped to never return to Ferelden's courts, but she was not blind to the irony of what had brought her there.

"Are you going to tell him before you go on your Calling, Fiona?"

"Are you going to tell Anora you and her father?"

Fiona was always so sharp when it came to the child, and her quip was met with silence. The elf sighed loudly,"No, no I won't tell him. Its better he doesn't know."

"Just as it is better Anora doesn't know, if she hasn't guessed at it already. The rumors may have died down after I became a Warden, but I am certain they remained prevalent every time I came back to Denerim."

"Maric said that it was never talked of to him by anyone. You two kept your secrets well. You always did," Fiona said.

The elf and the human woman passed through the silent streets of afternoon Denerim with purpose, but their conversation was less than idle. These things were something they talked of often, Fiona always intent on keeping her son a secret and Emeline adamantly denying any involvement with the late Teyrn.

Emeline had known two things all of her life. First, Loghain had never and would never love her. She was not Queen Rowan, and he had confided in her long ago about how deep his love for her had run. She wasted no idle thoughts thinking it was she that Loghain thought of beyond the Fade and not Rowan. Secondly, she had always admired him and she would give anything to lessen his pain. Her entire life had been spent in reverence to an idol of the freedom her father had taught her to value over anything else until the day he died. What 'romance' they had was as sporadic as her visits to Denerim, their letters kept short and sweet and never revealing of anything, and only two other people had known of their peculiar relationship. King Maric and Fiona knew because both had been confided in by the Warden and the Teyrn, and behind their backs, the King and the elf shook their heads and called them fools. Fiona had told her many times that Emeline's obvious devotion was more than a peculiar friendship that involved sharing a bed, but love. All her life, the new Commander had denied her for love had to be shared and admitted between the two people involved.

Whatever semblance of a romance existed between them was based off of the frame work of their entire lives. Loghain had known her since she was a babe, and she had always skittered along at his heels whenever her father would allow her. His arms were naturally a place she wanted to rest, and she yearned for his acceptance in the way anyone would like the acknowledgement of their idol. She received it not long after her father's death when she stood up for her rights to his land and the entire Bannorn he had presided over, and from his council and advice a friendship grew. She knew she would always value him more than he valued her, but in the world she envisioned for herself, this would have been okay. She did not want to get married. She did not want children young. Emeline wanted to own and govern what her father had left to her, and she did so all while smoothing away the jagged edges around Loghain's emotional shell. She liked to think that she helped him cope with his pain by keeping open arms for him.

In many ways, Emeline was grateful for becoming a Warden. It took years of her life she would have otherwise spent in Loghain's shadow, ever ready to be a shoulder to rest on. It stemmed the tides of any foolish ideas of becoming Loghain's wife, not that she considered them much since her primary objective as a young Bann was to keep her land and never let a man have it. When the taint took her title for her, she had left it to the Knight that was in her service, who had since been killed during the Blight and replaced by one of Rendon Howe's dogs. She would have to face that person when she took over the Arling of Amaranthine, and she dreaded it.

In hindsight, Emeline was a hypocrite for so loyally following a man who would never love her and defending her right to being the Bann of her father's lands with all of her honor. Twenty years spent writing letters and visiting at every chance she could, sharing confidence with Loghain. Twenty years spent pretending to be a woman who could not and did not love in order to fool those around her and shoulder the burdens of a man she idolized.

Loghain told her once that he wished she would not do that, idolize him. Her response had been that he was such a thing to all of Ferelden, a sign that brave service and devotion could take one anywhere. He was the epitome of what it meant to be a Fereldan and that she was a lucky woman to know him so well. He told her she was a fool. He was probably right.

Even as Denerim's palace came into her view and her conversation with Fiona fell into silence, she believed she had been a fool for much of her life. She had valued something hollow and empty, clung onto it as if it was life itself, and now that it was gone, she still did not regret it. She knew she had lessened Loghain's pain when it mattered, and in the end, that is all she ever really wanted. Now, she would live for herself as she always had when she was not in Denerim, but there would be no thoughts of waiting letters and responses to them to cloud her mind.

When her eyes fell upon King Alistair, tall and darker haired and darker skinned than his father and half-brother before him, Emeline smiled with the knowledge some of Fiona's genetics had indeed prevailed over Maric's. The facial shape and the pleasant smile had been inherited from his father, but all of his coloring had come from the elf that walked beside her. He seemed glad to meet them, and he looked proper beside his wife.

Gwendolyn brightened up visibly, and Emeline was just as glad to see the woman as she thought the new Queen was to see her. She had grown so much since the Warden had last visited Highever, and she could now understand why she had taken Anora's place. Gwendolyn gave off the air that Ferelden had always wanted in a Queen. She was natural. She was beautiful, and she was strong. Even in her royal attire, she looked like a woman who could ride into battle at her husband's side and hold her own.

"Maker's Breath, Gwendolyn. Look at you, so tall and pretty now. It's been ages," Emeline smiled as she held out her arms, inviting the woman in for a hug."

The Queen came quickly and returned the gesture, hugging the Warden tightly," It's so wonderful to see you! When Eamon told me you were coming, I didn't really think it would be you."

"I'm glad it was me so that when I go on my Calling and go to the Maker, I can tell your parents all about how much you've grown. Now, I am not so familiar with your husband, Alistair, isn't it?"

She wondered if he was shocked by her kindness, his brow arching into a peculiar angle that Maric's own brow often quirked in when he was faced with her. So much like his father, yet she knew very well that Alistair had not truly known him. Some things were in the blood, she guessed.

"Yes, Commander. I'm pleased to meet you, Emeline. I am surprised we never ran into each other at Ostagar."

"As am I, truly. Of course everything has to do with timing. I was fortunate enough to be called away before the final battle at Ostagar took place, so much so that I am able to stand before you now. It was a terrible tragedy."

"Perhaps if you were still there, Loghain would not have been so quick to-"

"Please, don't assume he would not have quit the field if I had remained. I don't know what you have been told about Loghain and I, but I can promise you this: my presence on the field would have meant little. If he felt it was the right strategic choice, he would have done it anyway. We never discussed it in our letters, so I'll never really know. What I do know is that he was reasonably angry with Cailan, as any father would be to a son-in-law rumored to be sneaking into the beds of other women."

"You seem to know a lot about him," Alistair said.

"I have known him in some way for my entire life, and I have been in consistent contact with him for twenty years, your Majesty. There are things I know about him that very few men ever have, and I will take them to my grave for him. He was a good man."

Behind her, Fiona let out a soft huff. Usually, this was a signal from the elf to let it go, but Emeline would not.

"You knew those people for nearly as long as you've been a Warden, certainly. They were your friends, and you can forgive him for their deaths," said Alistair.

"If he had entered the battle, many more could have died, and the Archdemon may never have so openly presented itself as it did. I try to look at the brighter side of things, Alistair. You would do well to do the same," Emeline let out a sigh of her own.

"Now, maybe we should go inside and discuss the arling of Amaranthine with the two wardens, Alistair," Gwendolyn stepped away from the warden, reaching out to place her hand gently upon her husband's forearm.

Her touch obvious soothed his grated nerves and temper, the angle of his furrowed brow softening as she protested to further discussion. He nodded to her and turned his back to the Wardens.

"Gwen is right. We have other things to discuss, and food to eat. Arl Eamon arranged for a midday meal at the expected time of your arrival."

"We shouldn't keep him waiting then."

* * *

_Hi guys! Just a very short chapter to remind you all that I'm still here. I've been having a lot of computer trouble since I got to my university, and its wiped every attempt I've made at getting through a chapter, so I'm putting this up before it happens again! For those of you who haven't looked through the story for a while, I am still conducting small edits here and there. I believe I've fixed up to chapter five.  
_


	13. Balance

Gwendolyn could feel the tension brewing in the air around Alistair. He was clearly uncomfortable with how close the new Warden Commander had been to Loghain, and there was much to be said on the matter. She had decided to inform him of all she had heard talked of between her parents as a child when she had a chance to speak to him privately, for Gwendolyn had no intentions of embarrassing Emeline any further. Her parents had been all too insightful into the quiet relationship between a Bann who had aligned herself with them and the only other Teyrn in Ferelden. At first, Eleanor Cousland had merely been curious as to her intentions, but as the rumor mongering spread of the Lady Emeline's disappearances from her small estate in Denerim late at night only to be found very early that morning asleep in her own bed, she made her own assumptions.

Ferelden's nobles were as shocked by this news as they were when just months later, the Bann fell gravely ill during a visit to Denerim. Whispered echoed for years about how the King had remarked on her pale complexion and over use of make-up that morning, only for her to faint into the arms of Teyrn Loghain in the middle of the courtyard. It was not until many weeks later that it was revealed she had been exposed to darkspawn taint trying to protect a village in her Bannorn, and that she was fortunate that the Wardens were in Denerim that day. There existed much speculation about how long she had been ill before the incident at the palace.

Seeing the Warden as downtrodden as she was now, Gwendolyn found little room for doubt in her heart about the relationship that existed between Emeline and Loghain. As much as she felt sorry for Alistair in the face of Loghain's betrayal, the Queen found it difficult not to put that aside in the face of how Emeline must have felt. Maybe she knew things that Alistair did not, but it must have felt terrible to know that her companions of twenty plus years had been left to die by a man she had devoted much of her life to idolizing.

They walked silently through the halls of the palace before they reached the small dining hall that had been prepared for the Wardens upon their arrival. The meal was small, meager in the face of what was usually served to guests, but because of the Blight, Gwendolyn insisted that meals at the palace be kept sufficient enough for sustenance and no more when asked about how to govern the kitchens now that she was Queen. There had been little protest from those in the palace, for they too knew the troubles that would be brewing. They knew that feeding their families would prove difficult enough without decadence among the monarchs.

"Would it be wrong of me to ask how long you have been in Ferelden?" Alistair said, tired of the silence.

"Only a month or so, your Majesty. I decided that on my trip to Denerim, I would visit Ostagar. There were a great many interesting things remaining. Speaking of, is Arl Eamon to be joining us for lunch?"

"I believe so. Do your findings concern him?"

"Oh, most certainly. I meant to return Maric's sword to you, since you now are King and it is your right to have it, but it seems I forgot it at the Teyrna's estate. I will return it to you before I leave Denerim. As for what concerns Arl Eamon, I found some interesting letters in Cailan's things."

"Was he terribly butchered, Emeline? What did they do to him?" Gwendolyn asked.

It was not curiosity that moved her, but honest concern. She had heard much of what happened at Ostagar, but she knew little of darkspawn cruelty. The pause in the flow of conversation told her that the Warden was not eager to tell.

"Cailan was stripped of his armor and put up upon a series of spears the darkspawn used to hoist him into the air and put him on display. They had preserved his body by some kind of magic. It looked like he had not been dead more than a few hours when we arrived. I recovered his belongings, gathered his armor from the darkspawn, and gave him proper rest. If you are privy to the armor, I can have that brought to the palace as well."

"Maker, that's terrible. What about the others?" Alistair said.

"There were many frozen, mangled corpses but no one was discernable. I hoped to find Duncan as well, but it was to no avail. We will need to go back again."

"Agreed. I would like to accompany you when that day comes."

"Your presence would be an honor, your majesty."

As they neared the doors, Gwendolyn saw Emeline reach for the small pouch upon her hip. Perhaps she kept what concerned Eamon very close by for fear of something, but it was clear to her that the Warden meant to say something harsh. Her lips drew into a thin line as the doors opened, to reveal the Arl sitting alone, waiting for them in one of the side chairs. Nearby, Ser Cauthrien and Leland kept close watch, certainly to join them at the table. The female knight regarded the Warden with a polite nod as a greetin, but Emeline hardly seemed to notice. She closed in on her prey.

The Warden passed toward Eamon with purpose in her step, one hand reaching into the pouch as she pulled out a single piece of parchment. She slammed it harshly on the table in front of him, and the sound echoed through the mostly empty dining room. Waiting silverware jumped at the force behind her hand.

"Tell me something, Eamon, before we discuss anything about Vigil's Keep. I found this letter from you, addressed to Cailan, when I was at Ostagar. It seems you were quite insistent upon pressuring him for an heir, even going so far as to suggest he cast Anora off. Just after this letter, I found one from Empress Celene written in a tone far too familiar for a simple answer for aid."

"I don't know what you are suggesting, Emeline. It is true I was concerned about an heir, but I would never expect Cailan to marry the Orlesian Empress."

"I am going to make an example out of you in front of Alistair and Gwendolyn for this, and let me tell you why. I refuse to let you put the same pressures on him if Gwendolyn is not able to bear a child in a timeframe you deem proper. Seeing these letters certainly sheds a little light on Loghain's actions."

"Does it now? Killing his King no matter the reason is a heinous crime."

"In the eyes of the Maker, so is casting off one's wife. If I were Loghain, I would have let Cailan go to the darkspawn to serve his penance for what appears to be an arrangement to throw Anora away in favor of the Orlesian Empress. He worked all his life to protect this nation, and I wouldn't have put it past him to put down Cailan to keep doing so."

Her actions were harsh and angry, but Emeline spoke in such a gentle tone that it could not be mistaken that each and every word was loaded with poignant venom. She did not mean to shout her point to him. She meant to spread a poison guilt so deep into his soul that it might shake him for the rest of the Warden's living years.

"Now hold on a minute. Your proof for this is a few letters that you might be taking out of context. I want to see them," Alistair demanded.

"Let me read them aloud. I believe I have them both."

She unfolded the letter she had slammed against the table with purpose before clearing her throat. The first paper appeared well kept enough, but the second looked crumpled and unsavory.

_Your Majesty, _

_My men will arrive as soon as possible to bolster your forces. Maker willing, this Blight will be ended before it has begun. _

_Cailan, I beseech you, as your uncle, not to join the Grey Wardens on the Field. You cannot afford to take this risk. Ferelden cannot afford it. Let me remind you again that you do not have an heir. Your death-and it pains me even to think of it-would plunge Ferelden into chaos. _

_And yes, perhaps when this is over you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir. While a son from both the Theirin and Mac Tir lines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed. _

_Please, nephew, consider my words, and Andraste's grace be with you. _

"This is the letter from you, Arl Eamon. Now, the last letter from Empress Celene…"

_Cailan, _

_The visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to the darkspawn problem. You understand, of course? The darkspawn have odd timing, don't they? Let us deal with them first. Once that is done we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden. _

As she read, Gwendolyn noticed how crumbled and torn the letter was, but it was certainly not because of Emeline's hand. She had treated both letters very carefully as she held them, standing tall and proper, not a shake in her hands. She settled both pieces of paper down upon the table, and Alistair stepped forward to take them. He retreated away from the Warden, aware as Gwendolyn was of her bubbling temper. He came to stand near his wife, and together they overlooked these letters and Emeline spoke again.

"If this letter had been found by Loghain, then I believe it is certain confirmation for his reasons. Never, ever will I trust an Orlesian bitch, much less their Empress. Maker rest Isolde's soul, but I will never forgive her for how she treated Alistair as a boy. If it had been within my power, I would have taken him into my stead, but ifs and what might have beens do not belong in this conversation."

"How dare you speak of my wife in such a way!" Eamon stood to face the Warden now, anger of his own welling up," I find it incomprehensible that you, of all people, should call Isolde untrustworthy and cruel. If it is your wish to outright insult her memory then do so plainly, woman."

"Then I would ask you to do the same for Loghain, for King Maric, for Alistair's mother. Is there anyone you haven't double crossed? How angry with you was Maric when he heard you sent his son to the Templars? Tell me, Eamon. Tell me how Maric yelled and screamed at you for that injustice!"

"Stop. Stop this now. I will not have this kind of argument preceding what should be a frank discussion about the Warden presence in Vigil's Keep. Sit down, both of you!" Alistair said.

He was unhappy. Gwendolyn could feel that much from him as he stood near her with an arm around her waist. He held both letters tightly in his hand, and she could see him milling over what he had read as he waiting for the two opposing forces to give up at the demands of a King. She remained silent as Eamon sat himself down into his chair. Emeline went silent for a moment, but she did not retreat. Rather, she leaned forward to the Arl, her voice softer than before.

"I will say this before them, before Ser Cauthrien, Fiona, and that other Knight there because I want everyone to know that if you ever think of trying to convince Alistair of casting off Gwendolyn, I will come after you myself with a sharp knife and I will put. You. Down. If they are unable to conceive, you and I both know very well it would have absolutely _nothing _to do with her. And Maker help me, Eamon, but I've never had children of my own and Gwendolyn and Anora were the closest things I had to daughters. I won't tolerate your judgmental attitudes about their abilities to produce children. That isn't what matters here. Not anymore."

She felt shaky and uncertain of what was transpiring. Emeline had leapt so quickly to action that Gwendolyn scarcely realized what had happened, but Arl Eamon seemed spooked enough, so much so he had no words to counteract the Warden's obvious threats. She towered over him in her shining steel breastplate, angry as she had ever seen her. Often, she was calm and no matter her feelings, regarded things with pragmatism and logic. In these dark times in her life, perhaps all that the Warden knew how to do was lash out.

Emeline straightened her back as she moved away from the Arl, certain to take the letters with her as she took a seat at the far end of the table from the man. She turned her back on him entirely as Fiona sat near her and rested a hand of comfort on her shoulder, soon joined by the others in the room. Gwendolyn sat opposite Emeline with Alistair at her side. The two knights kept away from them, but somehow, Eamon was left entirely alone at the table.

The Queen looked down at him as he stared down to his empty plate. He seemed to be considering Emeline's words in silence. She wondered if this would be the final push she needed for Eamon to let go of Alistair's leash and let him rule on his own, free of the Arl's influence. She hoped so, for the Warden's threat would always loom over him otherwise. She kept her brother's words and her own beliefs close to her heart. Arl Eamon had not always worked for his own gain, for she knew him to have made great sacrifices during the Blight, but she had no reason to trust him. She felt insecure as ever about her prospects of child birth in the face of Eamon's letter to Cailan, and as she sat next to Alistair, she reached under the table for his hand. She could not eat now. Bringing these things to light in front of her made her aware of Eamon's ever present concerns as they had existed for Cailan and Anora, and she knew the pressure on her to be stronger. It made her feel sick.

She could feel them all looking at her as she straightened up in her seat, but Alistair's firm hand around her own alerted her to the fact that he knew how she felt. It must have been obvious to him when her heart sank down under the weight. He had seen and felt her worry about an heir already, and perhaps he anticipated another talk about such things that night.

"Now, about the Keep. I understand that Arl Howe called it home. With that knowledge alone, I'm certain much needs to be done for the upkeep of the tower. Everything has a habit of falling into disrepair around that man," Emeline began as she settled into her chair, obviously trying to reel in her temper.

"He did, yes. Several Orlesian Grey Wardens have gone ahead of you to see that it is prepared for training and housing recruits. I am told they are to leave once there are enough Ferelden recruits to support the Keep on their own. Are there others that will be joining you?" Alistair said.

"Yes, but they are few. One is a former Dalish Keeper, Iolan is his name. He is a Senior Warden, though younger than Fiona and I. He has some years ahead of him yet. His son became a Warden as well, and will be joining him along with a few other Ferelden born Wardens that volunteered to come home. They are set to arrive at Vigil's Keep shortly after we do."

It was at this point when those at the table were sure that conflict was over and proceeded to serve themselves their own food. Gwendolyn did not move to do so just yet. She had to mill over her thoughts on what had just transpired, for she could not so easily move on from what Eamon may or may not have brought to pass between Cailan and Anora. It made her feel uncertain of herself, and her discomfort radiated around her. Alistair seemed slow to reach out to eat as well. Emeline's strong confrontation of Eamon had left a veil of discomfort over them all.

"Then I suppose the Orlesians will not need to be there long. The Hero of Ferelden has a great story to tell, and surely it will sway many of our people to your ranks, Commander," Eamon sighed.

He did not sound pleased, but he found it in him somewhere to speak to her civilly.

"I would prefer it that way, honestly. We need to be able to stand on our own. With the Archdemon dead, the darkspawn are scattered and weak. It won't take much to beat them back into the Deep Roads. The real problem is healing the taint on the land, and Grey Wardens can't do that."

"You must have some knowledge of working the taint out of the land, something to give to the Banns and the Freeholders," Gwendolyn said.

"I'm sure there is such knowledge somewhere, but it is not in my hands now. If anyone would know, it would be Iolan. When he arrives, I will ask him."

"Is there anything that we will need at the keep that has not yet been arranged?" Fiona said.

It was the first time she had spoken since Alistair and Emeline's small quarrel outside. Gwendolyn had almost forgotten she was there.

"I believe that nearly everything is in order. A well skilled smith has been commissioned to help where he may, and the dwarves have sent a demolitionist to help with any problems in the passages to the Deep Roads. I think there are architects there to repair damages to the Keep as well, but I cannot tell you for certain who sent them," Eamon jumped in.

He had the more logistical information, and perhaps that was his only purpose at the table. Gwendolyn cast her gaze to Leland and Ser Cauthrien, both of which sat silently at the other end of the table. Leland always kept himself nearby in case something might happen so that he might leap to her guard. She had told him regularly that it was not necessary, but still he made himself ever vigilant. In that regard, little had changed since she left the Chantry in Rainesfere.

Ser Cauthrien, however, rested on hand atop a wrapped package. The Maker only knew who that was meant to go to, but the Queen thought she had a good idea. Ser Cauthrien had been Loghain's second. If he had left anything behind for anyone, it would have fallen into the Knight's hands before it reached Anora.

"If I may, Commander, are you accepting any recruits while you are in Denerim?" Ser Cauthrien spoke.

This question resonated down the table and gathered everyone's attention. Emeline responded with a small grin as she swallowed down a bite of food.

"Well, I hadn't given it much thought, Ser Cauthrien. There is a duty to be done here for Knights like you, so I never thought to ask. Is it your intention to become a Warden now that Loghain is gone?"

"Yes, I-I feel that my work here at the palace is done. Ser Ramsey has learned much of what it means to tend to the men, and I think that the Teyrn would want me to follow you now."

"You are welcome to join us when we leave for the Keep in the morning, but if you change your mind, you are just as welcome to remain behind. It is a big decision, _volunteering _to be a Warden. Few of us were afforded that luxury," Emeline said," We will be meeting at the Teryna of Gwaren's estate when we leave. Another recruit will join us there at sunrise, and we will leave at once."

The rest of the meal passed much more smoothly, Emeline's distinct venom having faded from the air in the room. She let herself out once everything was settled, followed closely by Fiona and Ser Cauthrien. The Knight made her best effort to stop the Warden before she left the courtyard.

"My lady, I'm sorry to interrupt but this was left for you by the late Teyrn. Before the Landsmeet, he instructed me to give it to you if anything happened. I suppose he knew what awaited him."

"Thank you, Cauthrien. I will take it with me and open it at Anora's estate. I appreciate this."

* * *

Alistair took a deep sigh as he asked Gwendolyn to go ahead of him. He waited till everyone but Arl Eamon had left, knowing full well that he should say something about what happened. Over his lunch, Alistair came to the startling conclusion that me must do this whole King business on his own. Linara had told him once that he needed to look out for himself more, and he felt her words ring no truer than they did in that moment. Emeline had been genuinely afraid Eamon would treat Gwendolyn in the same way he had treated Anora over her inability to produce an heir for Cailan, and Alistair did not want the same for his wife. He knew that she already feared such a thing. To go without a child would undermine her worth to everyone. Everyone but him. He would not have Eamon further that.

"Eamon, can I speak to you for a moment?" Alistair held out an arm as the Arl approached the door.

They were alone now, and Eamon blinked up at Alistair as he reached out to close to door. Perhaps he knew what was coming.

"Of Course, Alistair. Whatever you need."

"I need you to go. I think Gwendolyn and I can take things from here."

"What? Alistair, if this has anything to do with what the Warden Commander said I—"

"I know you don't mean to worry Gwen about an heir, but you do. You scare her to death, hanging over us all the time. During our honeymoon, she was so scared and desperate to start trying for a child that she laid in bed waiting for me absolutely stark naked to get my attention. It was. . . weird, at first, but it turned out for the best I think. I just don't want her to be like that all the time. I like her, Eamon. She is a good woman, and I mean to give and show her the same kindness she has shown me. I will never turn her away. I want you to know that."

"But you will turn me away," The Arl sighed, looking away from the King," After all that I have done for you since you were a child."

"Look, Eamon, I appreciate that. I appreciate the faith you put in me by putting me on the throne and the help you gave us in bringing Loghain down and defeating the Blight, but this isn't about that. It's about Gwendolyn and I, and I don't want you to keep making her uncomfortable. You made me uncomfortable for a long time when you first introduced me to her. It felt like you were corralling us together, and we probably needed it at first but not anymore. Just go home, Eamon. Rest, and take some time to mourn Isolde's passing. You've been working too hard for too long. I think it's time Gwen and I start doing what we're here to do in the first place. I'm asking you to let go and let us be the people you were trying to make us."

Alistair and Eamon made eye contact then, and it seemed that the Arl was surprised with what Alistair had said. Really, he had expected that kind of reaction from the man who had arranged his marriage to Gwendolyn in the first place. It must have been strange to know that Alistair thought himself ready enough to be king that he no longer wanted Eamon there to clean up his messes. There were no messes to clean up anymore, no tidying up of the nobles to be done. They had a fresh start.

"I suppose you're right. I will prepare to leave shortly so that you and Gwendolyn may have your space. I think I understand."

"Thank you, Eamon."


	14. Set the Stage

Alistair found Gwendolyn in their bedroom, wrapped up in the bright red blankets that decorated their bed in the midsummer. The dress she had worn to meet with the Wardens and Arl Eamon was draped over a nearby chair for when she would need to redress herself. Alistair could not see her face, but he knew she would be upset. He crawled into bed beside her with care, gathering her limp form into his arms and lifting her to his chest. Her hair and the blanket near her face were wet. She sobbed once, and he knew her to be crying. This was the only provocation he needed to hold her closer, his hands finding her bare stomach as he reached into the blanket for her. She must have desired freedom from the tight dress, and the only way she could find it was through removing it. She seemed so upset that she must have ignored the thought of more comfortable clothing entirely. She sobbed against him, and Alistair sighed.

"It's alright, Gwen. Arl Eamon is never going to convince me to do anything involving another woman. I asked him to go back to Redcliffe to give us some space. It's best for all of us, really. He was working himself to death."

She lifted her head from its blanket prison to look at him. Behind her bloodshot eyes was a surprised glimmer. Did she think he relied on Eamon's council so much that he never planned to send him away, or was it the simple gesture of protecting her like that which made her look at him with those big eyes in that way?

"Are you ready for that, Alistair?" She sobbed again," Are you ready for us to do this without him?"

He kissed her on her forehead," Yes. I am. When we leave to campaign in the Bannorn, I'm going to bring several books on governance so I can learn a bit about this whole business when I'm doing something I already know how to do: killing darkspawn. In the meantime, I'll rely on your judgment when it comes to these things. It won't be long before we leave again, and we need to be sure that Denerim and the Palace will be fine without us. We need to appoint a new Arl to Denerim."

"Well, that's not too much to do in two days," she sniffled, " some of the nobles already sent in recommendations. We can choose the most popular from them and send for the one that we need. Surely someone can stay to introduce them to their duties."

Maker, even when her eyes were red and puffy and her nose running, Gwendolyn was still so beautiful to him. There was something endearing about her in such a state, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and trying her best to quiet her sobs. He felt the need to hold and comfort her. Alistair never felt so lost in her changing moods as he did with Linara. He liked that Gwendolyn had predictable fears and worries. It made his job easier.

"And about children, I want you to know that no matter what happens, I'm not going to cast you off. I'm no fool. It would be my fault if we don't have an heir. I would be very happy if we did have a child, but I know that even with Lydia's potions, it may not be possible. I am very thankful for you, Gwen. If it weren't for you, I don't think I could do this at all."

She decided to hug onto him now, a sign of her affection at his words.

"And I am thankful for you, Alistair. . . Do we have anything else to do today?"

"No, I don't think so. I vote that we lay in bed all day and never leave."

He smiled at her, a flirtatious tone coming out in his voice. He just wanted her to feel better. If it meant locking themselves up in their bedroom and simply being together all day, then he would allow it. She seemed shaken enough by their brief meeting, he wanted to spare her anymore. He never wanted her to hear things like that again. If Eamon ever thought to suggest divorcing her, it would be met with a heavy dose of anger.

"I like that idea," she said.

A smile passed over her face, brightening up her sad expression. At this, Alistair kicked off his boots, brought his legs up into the bed with him, and got as comfortable as possible lying in bed with his wife. As he had proposed, they laid in bed together for the remainder of a day, talking together about what they would need to prepare before they left for the Bannorn. Once that dull conversation died away, they spent the rest of their day together in passionate bliss. They took their evening meal in bed and finished their night in the very way they passed the time in the final days of their honeymoon. If they were to have a child, it would be nights like these that would highly improve their chances.

As their day together came to an end, Gwendolyn separated herself from their bed and settled in front of a mirror. Alistair watched her as she brushed away all the knots that together they had put into her hair, a content and happy air surrounding her. He did not feel moved to clothe himself for the night and neither did his wife. He did not know what mesmerized him more, the way her hands worked with her hair as she wound it into a braid for the night or the way her naked body moved in the mirror.

"We should do this often. We're young and recently married.. No one can tell us it isn't right," she said, shocking him from his stare.

"Did you like everything we did today?"

"I did."

Gwendolyn stood up to approach him again, crawling into bed and sliding underneath the covers to fit herself together with him. His arms wound around her body instinctively, and she let out a contented sigh as he squeezed her close.

"Thank you, Alistair. Thank you for making me feel better about today."

He rolled onto his side to get a better look at her, and together they adjusted to the position. Neither of them wanted to let go, and in the dim firelight, Alistair thought he saw a well of tears forming in her eyes again.

"Are you crying again? Why are you crying if you feel better?"

He ran his thumb gently underneath her right eye, and sure enough he felt the tears rush out to meet him. He wiped them away as she smiled up at him and laughed to herself. Crying and laughing at once? Maybe he was wrong to say she was more predictable than Linara.

"I don't know. Today just made me feel like you valued me, really valued me. It felt like you weren't just comforting me because you had to."

"Well, I comforted you because I wanted to. I don't like seeing you upset."

She smiled again as she closed her eyes, content with his answer. Her forehead pressed against his chest as she fell quiet.

"Good night, Gwen."

"Good night, Alistair."

Alistair held her as tightly to him as she would allow, ever aware of her breath as she drifted into dreams of her own. He remained awake, his thoughts on her unease surrounding the idea of giving him an heir. As their passionate day of lazy lovemaking began, she had been insistent to head straight for a vial of Lydia's magical baby-making potions. He had never been very concerned with it, but Gwendolyn feared being unable to provide him with an heir. It had been ever present in their sexual relationship, and it was the only reason she had been so forward in approaching him during their brief honeymoon.

She slept soundly now, all of her fears having been soothed away by the day they had put behind them where nothing entered their bedroom but food and a needy mabari. Alistair was determined to make her forget those fears and to show her that he valued her beyond that one thing that seemed to matter so much. If the day he had spent with her was a show of anything, it would be of his desire for her that was not influenced by need to have a child. All day he had kissed her and held her and made love to her, often without her insistence. She had been giddy and excited each time he would put a conversation on hold to show her these affections. More than anything, he had been glad that this soothed away her fear so that she may sleep in his arms free of words that had never been spoken. In time, he would purge these fears from her completely.

* * *

In the morning, they set to the real work. The Warden Emeline visited briefly before continuing on her way to Vigil's Keep, leaving King Maric's sword with Alistair. She insisted he wear it always as a sign of respect to where he came from, and she explained that Anora laid claim to Cailan's armor when she had returned to the Teryna's estate. Both of them thought it better that way. However, the king could not help but notice the dark cloud of sadness that had come over the Warden as a new development since he saw her the day before. She appeared so downtrodden and unhappy that he swore she would be going on her Calling in a matter of days. He had a feeling it had something to do with Loghain as Ser Cauthrien left her post at the Palace to become a Warden and Ser Ramsey rose to command the Royal Guard.

Alistair and Gwendolyn found that many of the noblemen had put in their recommendations for a young man who during Loghain's brief rule as Regent to Anora harbored those who would speak out against him. He had been the son of a Bann near the city of Orzammar, and he had come to be very familiar with handling a trade center. He seemed suitable for the position, and Gwendolyn wrote to him immediately. Surely the boy's father would come to help make him comfortable, and would be beneficial in helping him adjust to his new surroundings.

Ser Ramsey volunteered to lead the battalion of soldiers who would join Ferelden's monarchs during their campaign to the Bannorn. It was decided that a small force would remain behind to protect the palace and help the newly appointed Arl of Denerim maintain peace and order in the city. He had little experience in commanding a force of that size, but in the days of preparation Gwendolyn would see him nose deep into a book on military tactics just as she found Alistair diligently reading about Ferelden's politics. She was proud of them both for taking their duty seriously.

Ser Cullen and the young mage Lydia also volunteered to join Alistair and Gwendolyn for the campaign. Lydia insisted she be with the Queen every day in case a pregnancy was to come to fruition during the campaign. Further exposure to darkspawn taint would put Gwendolyn and the baby in jeopardy if the pregnancy went unnoticed, and that was enough for Alistair to immediately accept their presence. Lydia went to work immediately to concoct yet another potion for the Queen's delight to protect her entire body from what would surely befall her in the days to come. There would be no precaution too great to keep her safe from the corruption.

When she was not bent over a stack of papers, Gwendolyn went to work bringing the fighting strength back to her arms. All day she sparred with whoever would raise their arm against their Queen, and Alistair found her no more attractive than when she came to their room after a long day's practice, sweaty and dirty from her hard work. These were the nights that reminded him most of Linara, but more and more his memories of the elf were clouded by sweet dreams of his wife.

After the day Alistair spent with her in their bedroom, locked away from the worries of their station, Gwendolyn never spoke of her fears centering on giving him a child. Rather, she seemed excitable at the mention of a child. Perhaps she believed so strongly in Lydia's concoctions that she believed herself to be carrying a babe inside of her already. She never said anything to confirm such a thought, but she was so adamant about preparations. For all he knew, she might have been right to think about it.

They began marching for Vigil's Keep early in the morning on the third day. As the people of Denerim had following their wedding, they gathered outside of their homes to see their King and Queen leave the city in order to defend the Bannorns from the straying darkspawn. Alistair followed in step behind Gwendolyn, who waved and smiled and stopped from time to time to give her thanks to the people. He found that she had a knack for the social part of ruling, and he was glad for it. She gave him a path to follow when he did not know what to do.


End file.
